


Every Breath You Take

by Nigaki



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Disturbing Fluff, Disturbing Themes, Dom Arthur Morgan, Dom/sub Undertones, Invasion of Privacy, Low Honor Arthur Morgan, M/M, Obsession, Smut, Stalking, Sub John Marston, Switch Arthur Morgan, Switch John Marston, Voyeurism, check the notes for more warnings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28966590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nigaki/pseuds/Nigaki
Summary: John is a nobody. He lives a pretty boring life, trying to survive with little money he earns as a ranch hand.But even nobody can be someone to a person with an obsession.
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 48
Kudos: 73





	1. The Gathering of Fools

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there and welcome to my new story. Before we begin, I want to explain the tags more. This story can be disturbing as it contains stalking and Arthur isn't the good guy we all know and love. He's seriously fucked up in this but so is John, so this isn't some story about manipulation, brainwashing or some Stephen King's Misery territory. Everything that will happen between the boys will be completely consensual and wanted. The only disturbing themes are stalking and some gore so if you're fine with that, you're good to go!

When he was sixteen, someone once told John that if he keeps working like he was, hard and thoroughly, he’ll go far, start his own company and sleep on money. The world rewards hard working people after all.

It turned out it was all horse shit.

Ten years later and he was still in the same spot, just working for a different man with power. Better than a slave but not really a human that anyone gives a damn about. To society, he was just an useful pair of hands, nobody cared as long as he was working his ass off and if he was to die from overworking, well… There were plenty of other people for his place. People desperate like him, willing to work half of the day to meet the ends and that are forever bound to their jobs by the shackles of hunger.

Sometimes John wondered if the USA really banned slavery or just rebranded it. He wasn't ignorant to think he had it as bad as a slave back in the days but it really was just another form of slavery, just with a fancy name and couple of dollars to make them shut up and not complain.

The worst thing was, it worked. He complained, but never out loud. And the rest of the society, not the rich, nor the middle class, didn’t see any problem in how things worked. Workers were being paid, so what’s the problem? Who cares if it were children and women too. Everything was fair.

John saw enough children die because of work or women becoming unable to bear any more babes to know it wasn't fair. He was one of those children in the past too. He just got lucky surviving to celebrate his twenty sixth birthday.

Not really celebrating, he ate some dried bread that day, that was all he could afford. Because no matter how hard he worked, the only ones getting richer were the ones who were already rich.

“Can’t believe I’ve ever believed in that crap,” he sighed, tossing the bale of hay on the floor of the barn. 

“Believed in what?” the foreman asked him. It was a tall, bulky man with a bald head and an impressive, black mustache above his lip. He watched John with cold, blue eyes, waiting for his reply.

John turned around from him and walked to the pitchforks leaning against the wall near the door. “Nothing, sir,” he answered respectfully despite his guts twisting at the same time. He hated the foreman, Peter Lacey was his name. The man acted like he owned this place, always treating ranch hands like shit, saying they weren't working hard or fast enough, that they were lazy.

John met a couple of foremen in his life but this was by far the worst one. Arrogant, rude, nothing was ever good enough for him. He himself, almost didn’t work of course. He was on the ranch only to make sure John and other ranch hands were doing their job. He got to the hardest work according to him and their boss, Mr. Harris. Because counting some numbers was so much harder than dealing with cattle, heavy lifting or protecting the ranch from gators or, on worst occasions, panthers.

John scratched his scars automatically. They were a year old but sometimes they still itched when he thought about the accident that gave them to him. He didn’t even hear a thank you from his boss, just ‘you better heal fast, boy’. And not because Harris cared about his well being.

Goddamn bastard.

“Then stop wasting time on talking, Marston, cows won’t feed themselves” Lacey told him then dropped his gaze to the notepad in his hands, writing something in it. John watched him scribble for a moment. Lacey was always telling them they were too lazy to become foremen like him. Too lazy, and too uneducated. John never corrected the man he could read, write and count due to the courtesy of nuns at the orphanage. It wouldn’t change anything, he would still be just a ranch hand, because to become a foreman you need to be liked by your boss.

And John’s boss hated him.

It’s not that John made anything bad. He didn’t try to steal the man’s horses or sleep with his wife. No, John's only crime was that he refused to be treated worse than a draft horse. And Harris didn’t like that. Not even one bit. He hated his workers talking back to him. John tried no to do that most of the time, but sometimes he would just slip and say something he shouldn’t, which would earn him more work for the day, either the hardest or the one requiring getting dirty with animals’ shit. Anything to put him back in place.

John liked to think he wasn't fired yet because he was good at his job despite being mouthy. But he was probably kept around because Harris had someone to torture then. Other ranch hands were always ‘yes, sir’, ‘of course, sir’ or ‘right away, sir’. John didn’t blame them. The three other men he worked with had families to feed. John had no one but himself, he could always dig in the trash to survive. It’s hard to do the same when you have three children and a wife waiting for you at home, probably working as well, because the three dollars they were earning at Harris’ each week was laughable.

But even if he was like other ranch hands, John still wouldn’t get a better job. He was working for two years there now, ever since he moved to Saint Denis looking for new opportunities. He had seen men coming and going, hired as ranch hands like him. One of them was even working for five years here. None became a foreman. Even Lacey wasn't promoted after working as a ranch hand, he came out of nowhere from the ranching family.

So what you really need to do to become a foreman isn’t working hard or knowing how to read. You just need to come from a respected family and know yourself around cattle. And even that wasn't required because John worked once for a fella whos’ foreman knew shit about animals and still was more suitable for this job, according to the boss at least, than John who spent almost all his life around animals.

He knew by now that he was most likely going to die as a ranch hand, probably stomped to death by the cattle, breaking his neck after being bucked off from a horse, torn to shreds by some predators or shot by an outlaw trying to steal from Harris.

He knew that but he never accepted it. As much as he loved working with animals, he hated the life he had. That he was being used for little to no money that barely lasted him a week. That to most people he was just a small bug. He had no idea who he would like to be instead but he didn’t want to be that.

He sometimes thought about having his own ranch. That would be nice. But he couldn’t afford one. Unless he would kill Harris and marry his wife who would no doubt inherit her husband’s homestead. Too bad the wife hated him too, often calling him greasy Marston because of his dirty hair. Not everyone had time for daily baths, unlike wealthy ladies spending whole days on gossiping in the city.

“What are you looking at?!” Lacey barked at him, pulling John out from his stupor. 

John blinked and looked at the foreman’s angry face, gripping the pitchforks tighter for a second before relaxing his fingers again and walking to the hay. “Sorry, sir,” he said, images of Lacey’s bloody face pinned to the wall with pitchforks still in his head as he passed the man. He really hated that bastard.

Lacey kept watching him as he cut the strings holding the hay together and tossed them aside. Cows in the barn mooed loudly, demanding their food. “You’re not here to be lazy, boy,” Lacey reprimanded him. John swallowed thickly and stabbed the hay with more force than necessary. “I see you standing doing nothing again and I’ll tell Robert.”

John really didn’t want to stay longer than his already twelve hours shift, especially since he wasn't paid for overtime, so he kept his mouth shut and fed the cows, throwing the hay into their stalls and shaking off the thoughts about killing the man out of his head.

Working got Lacey off his back and not long after, the man left altogether and John let out a sigh of relief. “You’re very lucky, my ladies,” he told the cows. He liked talking to animals, it was better than talking to people. “Wish I had someone to feed me like I feed you.”

His stomach rumbled after that, reminding him he ate nothing but a can of beans in the morning. Nothing better waited for him after work. He wasn’t eating bad perse, his salary was enough to survive and that was the only thing he could say about it. Almost all of it was going for food and weekly rent, with some cents left for other things. He never used them on himself just for his pleasure. The risk of loosing his job and starving for some time was too big to just carelessly throw his hard earned money away for stupid things like theater tickets or other entertainments. No one would let him inside the theater dressed like a bum anyway.

The only things that were bringing him some joy in life were cigarettes and sometimes drinks at the local saloon. He was too afraid to spend his money on anything else but cigarettes and the worst whisky were cheap so even the poorest people could have something good in life.

When he finished feeding the cows, John let them out on the pasture and started cleaning the barn. From what he could remember, his father had some dreams when he arrived in America. “It’s the land of opportunity!” he liked to say after he left Scotland behind, dragging his ass across the ocean.

Whoever came up with this lie had to be very convincing, because a bunch of fools were coming to America every day, looking for a better way to live. He saw them sometimes, coming down from the ships that just arrived from Europe, Africa or even Asia. Tired, sometimes sick, but all with hopes that would soon no doubt get crushed, just like John’s father’s dream were eventually. The poor bastard surely didn’t expect that what's waiting for the most of immigrants in America, was cleaning shit, same as on the old continent.

Was it worth it getting there? Probably not. Nowhere could be worse than here and what’s so different between being yelled at for being slow in German, French or Russia instead of in English?

For John there was none. He considered himself an American but he never truly belonged anywhere in this country. He wouldn’t mind working in his father’s dear Scotland or all the way in China. Labor was the same everywhere. And he would be nobody in every one of those countries. Just like he was nobody here and he was going to die as a nobody.

Unless he had some rich uncle or aunt in Scotland that was going to write to him soon, he would move there and finally live like a human. 

John snorted and shook his head. Silly dreams, he thought to himself as he grabbed the handles of the barrow to get rid of all the shit he collected while pitying himself.

He disposed everything into the dunghill and returned to the barn, leaving the equipment there with a tired sigh. He was working only for an hour but when you work twelve hours day after day, you tend to start already tired. He dreamed of a free day just so he could sleep for twenty four hours. He wasn’t lazy, no matter what Harris and Lacey talked about him, but a man can only work so much. 

“Marston!” John turned towards the door quickly. Speaking of the devil, Lacey was standing there with his usually disapproving look that John wanted to wipe from the man’s face with his fist. “You done?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then what are you standing there for, boy?”

“Not sure what I need to do next, Mr. Lacey,” he answered and dropped his gaze. He heard Lacey walking closer to him.

“Of course you ain’t,” the man snickered and suddenly, he was right there and pushed John towards the door. “You’re too dumb for thinking. I ain’t sure if I should pity you or be glad you aren’t trying to think and screw anything in the process. Now go repair the water pump by the stable, it’s broken and horses need water. And fix the wheel in Mr. Harris' wagon after. He needs it for later today. Prepare the horses while you’re at it. Now hurry up!”

John rushed outside, massaging his shoved shoulder and cursing at Lacey under his breath while heading towards the water pump. He passed another ranch hand on his way there, a black man named Joshua who was busy taking care of the horses.

“Hey, John,” the man greeted him from above one of the horses’ back.

“Hey,” John replied. He liked Joshua, like any of his coworkers. They weren’t friends, they barely had anything in common with John being on his own and other ranch hands being family men, but they were friendly towards each other and there were never problems between them. John wasn’t looking for a friend anyway.

“Heard you are about to fix the water pump,” Joshua mentioned while brushing the gorgeous Quarter Horse’s coat.

“Yup,” he confirmed, never really stopping to chat, so he said it a bit louder than the greeting. Harris didn’t like them talking at work.

“I was going to do it myself but Mr. Lacey told me to leave it for you.”

“I’ll fix it, no worry.”

He didn’t yet know what was broken but he was good at fixing things. Maybe that’s why he was usually sent to this instead of other ranch hands, also capable of repairing stuff around the ranch. Of course Harris would never tell him that but John was finding some consolation in it anyway. When you have a job when your boss scolds you for everything, you take his silence as a praise. Not that John cared what Harris thought of him.

The water pump was just clogged. He took it apart, removed what caused the problem and put it back together in only a few minutes, already used to doing it at least once a week with one of the few water pumps around the ranch. He knew he wasn’t supposed to, but he still carried water for the horses to drink after. Joshua was busy with cleaning their stalls and the horses needed to drink so John helped him. A wagon could wait.

“There you go, beauties,” he said to the horses. They all gathered around the drinker and eagerly put their mouth in the water. John rubbed the shoulder of one of them fondly, a dark bay gelding with silver mane and tail. “Drink up.”

He watched the horses with a smile for a moment before he decided to move while he still wasn’t caught not being productive. He would return to the horses later to prepare them for the ride but first the wagon and then whatever Lacey would give him to do next. 

There was really no time for rest while at work. They only had a small break in the middle of the day while they could eat. Harris wasn’t giving them food, he only provided them water. That way he paid them more every Sunday and so they had to bring food with them if they wanted to eat during the day. John’s coworkers had food prepared for them by their wives. John only had what he had prepared, which wasn’t much, just some dry meat and an even drier bun. He knew nothing better so he didn’t complain. It was still better than going hungry anyway.

They ate and talked for fifteen minutes before going back to work. John wiped his lips from the remains of whisky Jacob shared with everyone and got up from the uncomfortable rock he was sitting on, with the swamps and gators just behind his back.

And Night Folks.

He never saw them but he wished he had. Specifically dragging Harris and Lacey back with them to the swamp.

When twelve hours finally passed since he started work today, John could only think about his bed. As uncomfortable as it was, his legs needed it. So did his back. He rubbed at it while walking back towards Saint Denis.

It was said the city was the pearl of the east, like New York. John could see where it was coming from. He never was in the richer district of the city, especially where the mayor and other important people lived but he saw it from afar. The lights, the splendor, expensive dresses and suits worn by distinguished people. For many of them, this was Saint Denis. They had no idea, or just chose to ignore it, what was on the other side, right next to the cemetery.

When you hear of Saint Denis, you only imagine the wealthy building, fancy theaters and saloons. Nobody talked about the slums on the north-east side of the city. Nobody important lived there after all, just the poor, crooks and immigrants tempted by the city charm and that ended with different kinds of Saint Denis’s crème de la crème than the one they imagined while coming here.

John lived among those people, the only place he could afford in the city. It wasn’t as bad as it looked. It was dangerous no doubt, you could end with a bashed head if you enter the wrong alley at the wrong time, but where wouldn’t you? What made this part of the city different was that no police were coming here. Locals solved the problems among themselves. Police were only arriving as quickly as possible to take the body to the morgue, usually a victim of some bar fight. Or some poor bastard that thought he could walk away without paying the prostitute.

He lived here long enough now that he was treated like one of the locals so he was fairly safe. Which didn’t mean he wouldn’t move if he had that opportunity. The slums and it’s dangers weren't even that much of a problem. It was the state of his flat and noises he could hear at night that were making him want to pack and look for luck elsewhere. But he knew he would only find something similar so he was staying here for now until he would finally be fired. Or his back would give up eventually.

John planned on going home straight away but after passing the cemetery he heard some drunk singing coming from one of the alleys. A shot or two of whisky didn’t sound bad right now and alcohol always helped him fall asleep. Not that he needed any help with twelve hours of work in his legs and other parts of his body. He could swear even his hair hurt.

His aching feet took him to the saloon. It had nothing on the one in the middle of the city, or so he heard, but John had nothing to complain about. It was cozy, at least when there wasn't a rat invasion going on, and prices were reasonable. When he stepped through the door, he took a deep breath of the air heavy with alcohol and smoke. He didn’t wait long to smoke himself and before he got to the bar, he already had a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.

“One shot of whiskey,” he ordered, laying the coin on the counter.

“You look like shit, Marston,” the owner commented when he turned to face him. “Tough day at work?”

“You know it,” he responded and quickly emptied the first glass when it was placed in front of him.

“Why don’t you look for a different job?” the owner asked. “Most of the boys that worked for Harris complained like you and took a job in one of the factories in the city.”

“I know shit about manufactury, Willis,” he reminded the other man. “And I’m not looking to be stuck in a hall with no windows and with a stink of machinery for twelve hours a day.”

As much as he complained about his work, at least he was doing what he loved – working with animals. He would take the stink of the bull’s shit over the stink of oil anytime. He could smell it sometimes, coming with the wind from the industrial district of the city and he could never stand it. The only thing worse than working in a factory was slowly inhaling himself to death with dust from the mines like people in Annesburg. He’d never been, but he heard stories from people that moved from there to Saint Denis.

“Harbor then. You could help loading and unloading ships.”

“I suppose.” John twirled the glass in his hand, looking at the lonely droplet of whisky still at the bottom. Some drunk idiots laughed in the other room, louder than the piano the regular, Ichabod, was playing right now. John tapped his foot to the melody. “Would it be any better tho?”

“Better than working for that bastard.” Willis spat on the counter and cleaned it with a rag. “If even his own sons ran away from him, then something is definitely wrong with this man.”

“Don’t have to tell me that.” He could write an entire book about what was wrong with Harris. “Hey, give me another, will you?” he asked, pushing the glass towards the owner.

“You’re treating yourself today I see,” Willis chuckled and poured John another shot.

Usually John was ordering a beer. It was the same price as whisky but there was more of it. But he could afford it today. And even if not, he could survive three days without food until the next payment.

“I deserve it after a shitty day.” It wasn't that shitty, Harris didn’t even yell at him and Lacey was surprisingly okay. He had worse days than this but that didn’t mean it was ideal. And everyone deserved some joy once in a while in their life.

He savored the second shot, slowly sipping it as it was becoming darker outside and more people started arriving after work just like him. Lamplighter was already making his round outside, lighting up all the lanterns in the district that, unlike the richer part of the city, weren't graced with electricity yet. 

It was easy to get lost in thoughts – and in whisky – in the saloon and keep ordering more and more. That’s why John wasn’t much of a regular like most of the current patrons. He preferred buying his own alcohol and drinking it at home, sure that he wasn’t going to drown all of his money in the glass or get robbed like a fool after passing out in the morning on his way home.

But drinking at home couldn’t replace the atmosphere of the saloon that was one of a kind, so he liked to visit this place sometimes and sit for an hour or two, listen to drunk arguments, terrible jokes and equally terrible music and watch pretty girls offering their services to drunk fools.

Whatever the saloon in other parts of the city could offer, it surely couldn’t beat this.

John soaked up in this atmosphere for over an hour, finishing his second shot and drinking another (Why the hell not!) before getting up to go home. It became too crowded for his taste anyway, other patrons started gathering on each side of him, squeezing him between them and that was making him uncomfortable. He hated being touched. He couldn’t talk with Willis anymore either because the owner became busy serving more drinks and defusing potential fights between drunk idiots.

So he bid his farewell and stepped outside into the still warm and dry air. Another reason to hate this city. Weather. It was either dry or raining, nothing in between.

John lit up another cigarette and turned right from the saloon door. He didn’t want to waste time by walking the main street and entered the alleyway instead. It wasn’t the safest option but he walked this route so many times he didn’t think he had anything to fear. Nothing ever happened to him and if it would, he could protect himself. He didn’t have any weapon but he could fight rather well, and who could rob him here beside some desperate drunk?

During the day the alley wasn’t anything special but at night it was a bit unsettling walking there, especially with people lurking in the dark, either drunk or just standing there for one reason or another. John was used to it and didn’t feel fear. In fact, he rather liked how the alley looked now, with only a few sources of light left by the occupants of the flats here.

John could still hear the music, singing and talking coming from the saloon but when the walls ended on either side of him and the alley branched before him, he heard something that made the hair on the back of his neck rise.

“Please, no,” some panicked voice pleaded. It was a male voice and it was coming from John’s left. 

He should leave it, nothing in this district was his business beside his own. But he was curious what was happening, especially when he heard another voice.

“No? What do you say ‘no’ to?” another male voice asked, deep and gravely, not as much as John’s but still rough. And unlike the first tone, there was no trace of fear in it, only amusement. “It wasn’t a yes or no question. It wasn’t even a question, it was a demand.”

John heard a thud and even without seeing he knew it was the owner of the first voice colliding with the wall. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth, put it out and hid in his pants pocket for later before slowly stepping closer to the commotion, careful of his every step while the attacked started to plead again.

“Please, I don’t have any money,” he said to the other man, his voice trembling.

The other man chuckled at that. “Don’t play dumb now, partner. I heard you talking about it.” John inched towards the corner and looked around it, under the balcony. One man was pressing another to the wall, light from the lantern nearby illuminating them and allowing John to witness the fear on the victim’s face. He couldn’t see the other man, he was standing with his back to John. He was dressed in dark clothes and had a hat on his head. With his broad shoulder he was intimidating even with his look alone.

“I just tried to make my friend Andrew jealous!” the man explained himself. The robber didn’t like the raise in his voice and placed his hand on the poor fella’s neck, making the man whimper in fear. “I swear I don’t have any money besides some cents on me,” he added in a desperate whisper.

“That’s too bad.” John shivered when he heard the robber’s voice. It was calm and carefree but there was something dangerous in it that was making John’s heart beat in his chest like crazy. “Shouldn’t have bragged so loud about something you don’t have. You know I can’t let you go now, right?”

“Would you’ve let me go if I had money?” the man asked with hope, visible in his eyes even from John’s spot.

“If you would’ve been quiet about all this, sure,” the robber answered. “But too late for that now, ain’t it? You don’t have the money and that made me angry.”

“No, please! He-”

John couldn’t turn his eyes away when the robber suddenly plunged a knife right into the man’s throat, shutting him up. The man only gurgled something shortly and then slumped against the wall lifelessly while the knife slashed his flesh all the way up to the chin.

The robber dropped the body next to his feet and cleaned the knife with his long coat before putting it away. “Hope you at least have something on you,” he murmured, his voice dropping even further.

John couldn’t move, he was stuck in place as he watched the robber searching the body.

The body.

This man just killed someone because he didn’t have money and was just angry at it. People killed for different reasons. Protecting themselves or loved ones, accidently, hell even for money but it was usually a bash to the head, not ripping open someone’s windpipes!

And this man wasn't even shocked by it. It wasn't the first time he killed like that. But it was the first time John saw someone’s death with his own eyes. He saw the bodies before, but never fresh enough to smell the blood in the air. Maybe he imagined it but there was a metallic taste on his tongue as he gaped at the scene in front of him, trembling and not sure what to do. The man was going to turn eventually and notice him. He would be killed too, what murderer would leave a witness?

But John didn’t dare to move, afraid that if he would try, he would make too much sound. Maybe he should just go for it? Try to run, at least back to the saloon, he would be safe here. Maybe he knew the city better than the murderer, he could outmaneuver him.

The murderer started humming and whispering the words of some song under his breath as he searched pocket after pocket and even opened the man’s mouth to look for golden teeth. As if someone from here could have those. People here had nothing valuable, certain not enough to kill them over it. Was this man dumb for believing his victim had some big money?

It looked like the man was done. He dropped the body back on the ground and began to stand up when he suddenly froze. John got still too, afraid he was heard when he tried to back off quietly. But he didn’t even move yet when something caused the murderer with his knees still bent from crouching to stop.

John tried to take a closer look when a movement on the wall in front of the murderer caught his attention. 

Shadow.

A shadow that perfectly copied the twitch of John's head as he shivered when all the blood left his face and flewed straight to his belly, creating a pool of heat there as the realization hit him.

Shit.

The man turned and looked straight at him for what seemed like an eternity but in reality, it probably wasn’t even a second before he rushed at John, who stumbled back and lost his footing, just long enough for the murderer to catch him.

The man grabbed his shirt and shoved him against the wall, pressing him against it just like his previous victim, a knife back in his hand and now at John's throat.

It felt like John’s heart was right under it when he stared into blue eyes in front of him, twinkling with mischief.

“Well, well, well,” the man mocked. He wasn’t even slightly concerned with John, probably because he was going to kill him in a couple of seconds. “Who do we have here?”

John swallowed, perfectly aware of the blade just under his Adam’s apple. “Nobody, sir,” he rasped. The corner of the man’s lips raised just slightly. “I'm just a nobody.”

The man nodded. “Okay, I believe that,” he admitted and John wasn't sure if he was joking or really believed John was no one important. “But see, Mr. Nobody, there is a huge problem we got here.” The man brought his face closer to John’s. “You saw my face.”

And it was recognizable face too, with a defined jawline covered with a stubble and with a very characteristic goatee and a mustache that wouldn’t help hiding anyone’s identity, even if the style was very common among people. Dirty blond hair was falling from under the man’s hat, long just enough to cover the tips of his ears. But John didn’t focus much on the whole face, no matter how handsome it was, because he was still caught up in those eyes. So bright and alive, John never saw any eyes like that.

“Wouldn’t be a problem if you covered it while committing a crime like any normal criminal,” he responded. If he knew he had a chance of getting out of this alive, he would’ve never said that. But since he was going to die… well, he wasn't going to die as a weak.

To his surprise, the man laughed and he moved away from him. He kept watching John just like John was watching him, their eyes never breaking the contact for more than a second or two.

“I admit, that was dumb of me,” the man said and looked him all over, smirking, before settling on John's face again. His gaze was intense and reaching deep, as if the man was trying to see right through him. It felt to John like a pair of hands roaming inside him, grasping his soul. He trembled and it made the man let out a huff of laughter. “But I'm not the dumbest here. Just look at this poor fella on the ground.” John did. The blood from his throat was slowly reaching his boots, those of the murderer already in it. “I ain’t second dumbest either, since I'm not the one with a knife to my throat. So maybe I walk with my face uncovered but so do you.” John started breathing frantically when the knife was placed against the scar on his cheek, following it with the tip almost to his eye. He didn’t close it, he kept eye contact with the murderer who took the knife back to John's throat. “I have a good memory, pal. If I find out you told the police about this, I’ll find you and you’ll end in a worse shape than this fool. You understand?”

Wait, what?

He was being let go? Was this a trick? Giving him a false hope? Shocked, he watched the murderer, who had to notice his confusion because he nodded, as if confirming John was good to go. John would’ve believed that if he still wasn’t held against the wall with a blade almost cutting his skin.

Why was he left to go? What did he do differently than the fella that was already dead?

The murderer still waited for his response, not hurrying him but not letting him go yet either. He was having fun with this, that was clear.

“Yes, sir,” John agreed finally. Not telling the police about that was a small price for life. Hell, John would be willing to go on his knees for the man if it would mean getting to continue living.

But the man wasn't interested in him that way. But he sure was curious. Probably by who was this man dumb enough to not escape on time and that backtalked to a murderer holding a knife to his throat. He would be very disappointed if he was to discover John Marston really was just a nobody.

The man was pleased with his response. For a moment when he brought his face closer to John again, John feared he was going to die anyway, that it really was just a false hope. But the man only stared at him, took a deep breath that made John confused and moved away entirely, taking the knife with him. “Good boy,” he said. No, purred. John swallowed thickly, feeling the movement under his hand where he grabbed his throat, checking if it was really whole. Not even a nick. If it wasn’t for the rushing blood right under his index finger, he would’ve thought nothing even happened. “Now stay here until you won’t hear horse’s hoofbeats anymore,” the man instructed.

John nodded, not sure of his voice when even his legs were trembling and threatening to collapse under him. He kept his eyes on the murderer walking away, still facing John and watching him with a smirk. John wished it was this funny to him too.

The man finally disappeared around the corner. John listened intensely and after a few more seconds, he heard a horse galloping away.

John stayed in place longer, at least a couple of more minutes, trying to calm his heart. It pounded in his chest still even when he started to walk home, leaving the body quickly in case someone else would come by there and discover it. He was surprised how steady his legs felt, like he wasn't affected by what he saw at all. For a short moment he even thought it was a dream or he stayed longer at the salon and it was all a hallucination.

But it couldn’t be, could it?

He shook his head and practically jogged home, getting across the street and watching if he couldn’t see someone riding a horse there. But the street was empty, no stranger in dark clothes and with blue eyes was coming his way to finish the job.

John walked into the side alley next to the church, passing one of his neighbors who looked at him like he lost his mind. Maybe he did. Turning right and avoiding someone sleeping on the ground, he quickly reached the stairs at the end of the alley and climbed to the third floor, almost jumping through the door on the left that led to his flat.

Once inside, John locked the door behind himself, even though he had never done that before. He had nothing valuable to steal, he didn’t fear robbers but after today, he didn’t want to risk it.

He knew it was silly. That murderer escaped, he was probably out of Saint Denis by now. John would in his place. So he was safe just like always. Somehow he survived the encounter with a murderer that just a minute earlier killed someone for a dumb reason but suddenly the same murderer spared John just because of a promise to not tell the police.

It really felt like a dream and John might’ve believed it was if he didn’t discover the blood on his shoes when he took them off for bed.

It was real.

He laid in his bed awake for hours that night because every time he was trying to sleep, he was either seeing the dead body behind the closed eyelids, or hypnotic blue eyes staring back at him, and he couldn’t tell what was keeping him and his pounding heart awake more.


	2. Cheers!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the warm welcome of this story! I'm so happy to see people commenting and being interested. I hope I can keep the interest up with this new chapter! Enjoy!

John was half awake in the morning, even after he drank his usual cup of coffee. Or rather half of the pot because he felt he needed it.

It didn’t help, he was yawning every minute or so while eating a small breakfast containing some dry bread he used to scoop the beans from the can instead of using a spoon. It didn’t really get rid of the hunger he felt since yesterday. He should’ve eaten something before sleep but after the small encounter in that alley, his stomach was twisting too much to hold anything. It was still doing it, he barely ate even now but he couldn’t go to work with an empty stomach.

He felt like throwing up after eating, so he smoked a cigarette to calm his bowels a bit. This was already a terrible day and it barely started. He could already feel in his bones that it wasn’t going to be better at work. It never was. And all of that because he saw something he shouldn’t. Because he couldn’t just keep walking like any normal person would. And he didn’t even try to help that poor fella that died, he just watched him being threatened, dying and having his corpse violated with robbery.

Curiosity killed a cat. Apparently, it also almost killed John. He didn’t know why he was still alive. The man that caught him yesterday didn’t look like a type that valued human life and killed with reluctance. And John was a witness that got a very good look at his face, especially when the murderer got close to him. It would’ve been safer to simply kill him and rob him too instead of letting him go. What if he would tell the police?

Not that John was going to do that. The moment the posters of the man would hang around the city, John would be dead. He had no doubt about that even if he didn’t exactly believe the man when he told John he had a good memory. Maybe he did, but you don’t have to have a good memory to remember John’s ugly mug. Not many people around here could be proud of such a characteristic set of scars John had. All the murderer would have to do was to ask around about a fellow with a shredded face.

John scratched at his scars subconsciously, never stopping his train of thoughts. 

People in the slums treated each other with solidarity. They could kill each other among themselves but wouldn’t tell a stranger where to find their own. Unless money was involved. People could do a lot for money, especially starving people like most of the population here. And the murderer had other means to make folks speak if he wanted too.

John wouldn’t be able to tell the police about this even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t. It wasn't his business, he just wanted to forget he ever saw anything but he knew it was impossible. For now at least, because when he was closing his eyes, he could still see a lifeless form of that poor fella, bleeding on the ground. John’s shoes still had blood on them. He should probably clean them. Or maybe not and let the mud cover it for him.

Standing outside and smoking, John looked at the sunrise above the water. There was only a faint glow brightening the sky yet but it was quickly changing, more color appearing with each second. Usually John hated the place he was living in. It was cold at night and whenever it was raining, the roof was leaking. But he loved the sight he got from there. For that alone, he was glad to be living on the last floor and not somewhere lower where a wall would block his view.

Residents of the whole building were slowly waking up and leaving their flats. John nodded in greeting at the neighbor from his floor and watched her go to work before she disappeared behind the corner.

People from all the floors liked to meet by the stairs before starting their day and it wasn’t different this time either. Those just waking up met with those who were just coming back from work or simply drinking all night, sharing stories to always be informed about everything. John spotted Abigail Roberts and her friend just returning to sleep off the night. Abigail was a prostitute, so was her friend, they usually worked at night and so John mostly saw them only in the morning or evening when they were passing by each other.

Abigail noticed him on the balcony and waved at him with a wide grin. He waved back, watching both as they joined people downstairs, talking fast and with passion about something. He didn’t really pay too much attention to the words being spoken until something Abigail said made all his effort of calming his stomach go to hell with just one sentence.

“The police came for the body after midnight,” she said and John’s stomach tied itself in a knot. “Gertrude found it when she was taking her client home. Said the fella had his whole throat split open.”

John gulped and quickly put a cigarette to his lips, taking a long drag and holding the smoke till his lungs started to burn. Only then he released it with a shuddering breath and continued listening, even though he shouldn’t. He should get back to the house and try to forget about last night, so it wouldn’t tempt him to say something. So he wouldn’t risk he could slip a word one day.

Only he couldn’t make himself turn around, he was frozen in place with a racing heart, just like yesterday when he watched everything happening. He wanted to listen, hear what people knew, if they knew about him being there. Or maybe they caught the murderer already? He knew there was a slim chance for that, there was no witness, not one that the police know of, no clues. Not to mention they probably didn’t even care what happened.

“That’s horrible!” someone exclaimed, Mrs. Townley most likely.

“Must’ve pissed someone off a lot. That’s how it ends when you sleep with someone's wife!” some man cackled but his laugh was cut short by a smack of a rag and the man yelped.

“Don’t joke about something like that!” a woman scolded him.

“Why? The guy is dead anyway! And it’s true! I would kill anyone who slept with you. And then you for allowing tha… ow!” the man yelped again. “Will you stop that, woman?!”

“You’re a pig, Jim!” 

“Eugene would never sleep with someone’s wife,” someone else commented. So that was the poor fella’s name. John didn’t know him but he wasn’t surprised. He only really knew people living closest to him. He wasn't the social type. “He was faithful to his wife. Poor Hannah, she’s probably heartbroken. How is she going to feed two children on her own now?”

“Well, I can take care of her,” some man offered. “She’s a fine woman.”

“Get in line!”

“You’re married, Gorge, what are you doing in line in the first place?”

“You’re all disgusting,” Abigail stated. John could imagine her wrinkling her nose while saying that.

“Said a whore. Ow! God, damn it, my nose!” John smirked. “What was that for? I was just saying the fact!”

“This woman just lost a husband and all you think of is getting her in front of a priest! She’s in grief!”

“Grief won’t feed her and her children. She either remarries or starve.”

“We won’t let her starve,” Abigail’s friend decided. “We’ll help her. That’s the right thing to do.”

“What a tragedy,” Mrs. Townley sighed and most likely shook her head. “What monster could do something like that? I hope they catch him.”

With shaking hands, John took the last drag of his cigarette, tossed away the butt and returned inside his flat, not listening anymore when people downstairs started to talk what could’ve been the motive of the murder. He caught a glimpse of some ridiculous things like Eugene belonging to some gang, some Night Folk killing him or Angelo Bronte murdering him for… some reason. As if someone like Bronte cared about someone living in the slums.

It was funny to John because it was just a simple robbery gone wrong. Or rather murderer not caring he was leaving a body behind. But the fatal cut made the whole thing look like it was something more, providing the whole slums with something to theorize about for at least a week. Until the next body would drop, this time with a simple head wound from getting hit with a bottle or broken leg of a chair.

John finished preparing for work, putting on his still bloodied shoes. It was only on the sole so he wasn’t worried about anyone noticing it. Not that the sight of blood, even with the newest murder, would alarm anybody. Not here.

With something to eat packed in his bag, John left his flat, closing the door behind him but not locking it. He had all of his money on him and there was nothing else to steal from his house.

Usually, he was going to work either by the road next to the rail track or turning before the cemetery and walking around it. But today his feet took him through a completely different route and he didn’t even realize till he stepped between the buildings on the other side of the street, his heart pounding, almost as if he was expecting the murderer to jump him any moment now.

Of course it didn’t happen, it was a day, people lived here, there was someone around every corner, even more so than usual, because everyone was curious about what happened. A dead body wasn't anything new here but it wasn’t an every day it left a lot of blood that police most likely didn’t bother to clean up.

With that, nobody paid John any attention when he walked his way to the place where Eugene was murdered. He was right, the blood wasn’t cleaned yet, nobody was in a hurry to do so.

John stared at it, imagining the body where it should be laying next to it, over it. He blinked and saw a murderer too, plunging the knife in the throat of his victim, Eugene gurgling helplessly as his own blood flooded his mouth, his windpipes. The body fell and the murderer turned to John, smiling, ready to kill him next.

A loud crash from his left startled John out of the memory of the previous night. He gasped and looked around, once again searching for the murderer but it was just some girl who dropped a bowl on the ground that scared him.

John realized then he was shaking and sweating. He shuddered in disgust and quickly took a step back, bumping into someone who cursed at him. John apologized and hurried away, looking around frantically. He shouldn’t have come here. What if the murderer liked to come back and watch what was happening with the body he left? What if he saw John and thought he was going to speak now?

“That was a dumb mistake, Marston,” he muttered to himself, walking at a fast pace. He didn’t want to be late and get yelled at.

He got to work on time, where a job with horses was waiting for him already. It brightened his day immediately. From all the work on the ranch, he loved horses the most. Apart from a few exceptions, horses were gentle, calm and easy to love. No matter how angry he was, they could always calm him down or cheer him up by simply being their sweet selves.

John entered the stable eagerly, seven heads already stuck out from the stalls, watching him with excitement. A few happy neighs were thrown in his direction and many impatient hooves stomped in place.

“Good morning to you all,” John greeted the horses, making sure to stroke the head of every one of them. They were all happy to see him, they knew him well and knew they could count for some extra treats from him on an occasion. John liked to think they liked him the best from all of the ranch hands and even more than their owner. “Bet you are all hungry,” he said when he greeted the last horse in the farthest stall.

He let them wait a few more minutes before he prepared the hay and special feed for them in the pasture and then he let them out one by one, watching for a few seconds how they happily munched on their food.

With a smile, John got back to the stable to clean the stalls. In the meantime, horses ate and drank and soon were ready for some brushing. John snatched a bunch of carrots and put them behind his belt before joining the animals outside, carrying a brush and a hoof picker with him.

Horses loved brushing, each one let John clean their coats and hooves, ending with a carrot as a prize for being good and still. And not kicking him in the face. He was just treating a second to last horse with a carrot when he felt tugging at his belt.

John turned quickly and looked at one of the horses that took a step back, startled. John grinned. “Hey, it’s not your turn yet,” he said to the gelding, keeping his back away from the persistent horse while it once again tried to get to the last carrot. “No!” John repeated sternly.

The horse stopped and tossed it’s head irritated. John eyed him wary as he slowly turned to get the rest of the carrot to the other horse. She ate it from his hand and after a pat to the rump, trotted away happily, her clean coat almost shining in the morning sun.

The sight distracted him and it was all the gelding needed to go for the carrot again. He pulled it from behind John's belt and tried to get away with it but John was quicker and snatched it back, laughing. “Little devil,” he said fondly. The gelding didn’t even stare at him but at the carrot in his hand. John raised it and shook a bit, watching in amusement how the horse followed its movement. “These are after you get brushed, not before.”

The gelding huffed, as if saying it didn’t matter. “You say it now, but you’ll complain when you won’t have anything to eat after, mister.” The horse huffed again and John looked around nervously. “They’re counting them carrots, I can’t give you more. They’ll say I steal.” One ranch hand was once fired for stealing, John didn’t want to share his fate, especially over a carrot. “But I’ll buy you an extra carrot on Sunday when I get my payment, how’s that sound?” The gelding stepped closer, John expected him to go for the carrot but the horse simply bumped its head against his chest. John chuckled and stroked its neck. “Thanks’ buddy.”

This gelding was his favorite. A true beauty that was shipped all the way from Europe. John had no idea how Harris got his hold on a nice horse like that but he needed one for a light work. So instead of purchasing a Sire or a Belgian, he bought a Hungarian Half-bred. The horse was young, only 3 years old, but its silver mane and tail looked like it already went grey. John liked to call him Old Boy, even though the gelding didn’t have a name yet despite living for a month here already.

Old Boy enjoyed his brushing, trying a couple more times to steal the carrot but John knew all his tricks already and saved it for the end. The gelding bit into it like he didn’t eat for a week instead of not even an hour ago. Two more bites and the carrot was gone, only some crumbs were laying on the ground by their legs. But Old Boy wasn’t done yet and tried to sniff another carrot on John.

“I don’t have more,” John told him, laughing when the gelding pushed his head against his hips, sniffing the pockets. When he didn’t find anything there, he raised his head and tried to put his nose under John’s vest. “Stop that!” he laughed.

Old Boy huffed and didn’t stop, pushing so hard John stumbled with another laugh and had to grab the horse’s head to not fall. “You’re going to trip me over!”

At this point, John was sure Old Boy was doing it on purpose. He dug his feet into the ground, trying to keep his stand but the horse was too strong and easily moved him a couple of inches before John was forced to move his feet, unless he really wanted to fall. Still laughing, he tried to stop the horses once more, wrapping his arms around its big head.

“Marston!” John jumped away from the gelding in an instant, turning to see his boss standing by the fence of the pasture. “I ain’t paying you to fool around with my horses!” You don’t deserve them anyway, John thought bitterly and dropped his head. “You think the ranch will work on its own? Get back to work before I fire you, you lazy sack of shit! The railing of my house needs to be painted, get to it!”

“Yes, sir,” John responded obediently while looking at the ground.

Harris said something else but too quiet for John to hear. When he was sure the man stomped away, John looked up at Old Boy sadly. “Sorry, boy,” he whispered, stroking the soft nose gently. “Can’t play with you.”

The gelding bumped him one last time and walked away, joining the other horses.

With a sigh, John left the horses pasture and went to get the paint from the shed. He had a feeling he was going to get the worst job today.

He wasn’t wrong. After a few hours of carrying some planks, chopping wood and cleaning every wagon on the ranch, he was desperate for a break that finally came at 2 p.m. Other ranch hands were already done with unpacking their lunches when John finally joined them, groaning at the pain in his joints.

“You must’ve really pissed Harris off,” Joshua noticed when John sat down next to him.

“Entertained his damn horses that he never rides,” John replied, opening his bag to pull out his food for the day. “I lost three minutes on that, truly a crime.”

Joshua chuckled while two other ranch hands looked at John with sympathy. “You need to stop irritating him,” Zachary advised him.

“Yeah, well, Harris needs to stop being such a slave driver,” he said back with spite and spat on the ground. “Or get back to early 1800. He was clearly born in the wrong time.” 

“Amen to that,” Jacob agreed. “But you won’t get anything from back talking to him, you’ll only lose your job and Harris will still be like that.”

John didn’t say anything to that, just stuffed his mouth with a dry bun and shifted uncomfortably. He knew all that. He just couldn’t help himself sometimes. There was always a part of him that wasn’t allowing him to bow his head completely. To no one. And he couldn’t control it, not always. Thankfully it was never enough to cost him his job that he couldn’t afford losing.

With John silent and no one really in the mood to talk about their shitty boss, other men gladly changed the subject. John didn’t take part in the conversation, too tired and too irritated to enjoy talking. But he listened with one ear like back home this morning. And just like then, he froze at the mention of the subject he desperately wanted to forget.

“You heard about that murder, right?” Zachary asked. John gulped, feeling like an entire apple was in his throat. “Something horrible. Someone always finds a body in Saint Denis every now and then but this one was brutal.”

“People in the city were saying the fella had a torn throat.”

“Yeah, heard that too.” The news spread quickly. A whole city already knew. Maybe except the rich, safely guarded by the police. “Maybe it’s a vampire!” Joshua suggested.

“Vampires don’t exist,” Jacob mocked the other man with a snort. “I think.”

“I heard there is one in Saint Denis. It would fit!”

No vampire was needed to kill someone like that. It was just a normal human like them. Even if there was some unsettling joy in the murderers eyes when he watched John. He almost looked like he could’ve been something inhuman.

“What do you think, John?”

“What?” he asked, startled, looking around the faces of his coworkers. They were all looking at him and it was making him nervous.

“About the murder,” Joshua clarified. “What do you think?”

He would rather not think about it at all. Or hear about it, because it was tempting him to say something. How he saw the moment of it happening, how the knife sliced the throat with ease and warm blood started dripping on the ground. How it created the puddle there, how the murderer’s eyes shone after, how dismissive he was of that death.

John fought back a tremble that threatened to shake his body and answered with a dry throat. “I don’t know, I wasn’t there to see it.”

He probably shouldn’t have said that in such a panicked way, like he was guilty himself.

“None of us was,” Joshua reminded him, his voice calm and without any hint of suspicion. Good, they couldn’t know he saw it all happening. No one could know and John was going to keep it that way. It wasn’t his business anyway. "That doesn’t mean we can’t wonder why it happened.”

John shrugged, trying to be nonchalant while his heart pounded in his chest from the nerves. “Bad time and place, I guess.”

But somehow I survived.

Noticing John wasn't as invested as them – he was more invested than they could imagine – his coworkers discussed the murder only among themselves. Their theories were ridiculous, silly and exaggerated. It was surprising how interested they were in it, but John guessed they were just bored with their daily life and figuring out the murder could be pretty exciting. All three men would probably be disappointed if they were to find out it was a simple robbery and not a vampire attack or opium seller silencing the buyer.

Their theories ended when it was time to get back to work but they most likely continued the subject during work whenever they were doing something together. John stayed away from this, the murderer's voice still ringing in his head, warning him about the consequences if he would tell anyone. 

Not his business.

The day came to an end and John was glad to get back home. Harris gave him some slack after the break and for that John was grateful, he wasn’t entirely beat walking back home in a strong wind that suddenly arrived at Saint Denis.

John’s muscles ached but it wasn’t bad enough to make him wish he could just sleep for the rest of the week like it was happening sometimes. Feeling fairly good actually, he decided to visit the saloon again, even if he was worried about going back home through the alley he met the murderer.

He would just take the long way home.

John passed by the alley on his way to the saloon and couldn’t help but look at it from the middle of the street. It was dark, no lamp was lit and no people could be heard talking next to the doors of their homes. John couldn’t shake a feeling that he was being watched from the darkness. When he stared into it intensely, he could almost see the silhouette hidden in the shadow and blink of the blue eyes watching him. But it must’ve been his imagination.

He shook his head from the silly thoughts and entered the saloon. Willis, busy with his clients, only nodded at him from behind the bar when John leaned against it. He soon realized what a bad idea it was to come here a day after a murder. Everyone was talking about it. Every time someone was entering the saloon, there was an ask ‘Hey, have you heard about the murder?!’

John was constantly reminded what he witnessed yesterday and every time he heard about it, his heart was starting to beat just slightly faster. He gladly drank half the bottle of his beer in one go, picking it up with a sweaty hand. Cold liquid ran down his throat, the one he almost lost while Eugene wasn’t as lucky. The beer helped calm his nerves, even if just slightly. But he would have to drink more beer than one bottle to be buzzed enough to silences the talks about the murder.

So he listened to them coming from every direction, even though he didn’t want to, but he couldn’t force himself to leave either. Willis added his two cents as well, saying how strange it felt to know someone died just behind the wall of his saloon. But mostly he was complaining how he hoped it wouldn’t affect the number of clients coming here every evening.

But even an unusually gruesome murder so close to the saloon didn’t scare the clientele. People were as many as usual, someone was constantly opening the door and letting a cold wind inside, once even longer than necessary. John was ready to turn and yell at the guy to finally close the door but just as he was about to do that, the door was closed and John stopped feeling a cold air on his legs.

With an irritated huff, he got back to his beer while the new client passed just behind him, brushing against him briefly. John let it go since the place was packed, too packed for his taste. He was going to leave soon, he just wanted to finish his beer first and then get the hell away from the crowd that was closing tightly around him.

To John’s relief, the talks about the murder died down a bit eventually. Even with piano playing loudly and out of tune, he could still pick up everything said about the murder from time to time, he was unable to turn deaf to it. But it was still better than before and he could finally relax a little and enjoy his beer in relative peace.

Until a few minutes later a glass of whisky was placed in front of him suddenly, pulling him from his thoughts. Judging by the color, it wasn’t the kind that tasted like piss and which he was usually drinking. No, this one had a rich, amber color of the best whisky. Best in this establishment that is, because it was still nothing compared to something the rich were drinking. Still too expensive for John’s pocket.

John lifted the bottle of beer to his lips and sipped from it, ignoring the whisky, sure it was just a mistake. There were so many people at the bar it must’ve been for one of them and Willis simply made a mistake in his rush to satisfy every customer with their orders.

But when the whisky wasn’t gone in half a minute and no one shouted about their missing drink, John looked up at Willis, busy with pouring someone another shot.

“Hey, you gave it to the wrong man, buddy,” he said to the other man, pointing at the glass. “You know I don’t drink this.”

“Nah, it’s for you,” Willis assured, handing the full glass to the man at the end of the bar, getting a few coins for it.

John looked down at the glass, then back at the bartender. “I’m not paying for this,” he said. “It’s too expensive for me.”

“No need to, the fella that told me to give it to you already paid for it.”

John narrowed his eyes, puzzled. “What fella?”

Willis nodded with his head towards the other room. John followed with his gaze and his heart stopped when through the glassless window he spotted the murderer from yesterday sitting by the table, having a drink of his own as he watched John with an amused smirk under his curly mustache. The man gave him a gentle wave before raising the glass of the same whisky that stood in front of John and offering a small toast.

The murderer quaffed the whole thing down in one go, never taking his eyes off John, who couldn’t stop staring as well, his throat tight and dry. He couldn’t breath all of sudden.

“You okay, John?” Willis startled him. John didn’t turn his head to look at him, too afraid to take his eyes off the murderer. Or maybe he was just unable, because the man was still looking and once caught in this gaze, John couldn’t look away. “You became pale like chalk.”

John managed to take a deep breath and released it shakingly, finally breaking free of the blue stare of the stranger. “Yeah, I… I’m fine,” he said and quickly finished his beer with a few gulps, barely being able to swallow, doing it so messily he was sure some of the drink was still left at the bottom. He didn’t care, he put the bottle back with a loud clunk, hands shaking and looked back at the murderer, making sure he was still there, that it wasn't a dream. He was there, still watching John and smiling as he lazily circled the rim of the empty glass with his finger, not asking for a refill. He looked like he was waiting for something. “I need to go.” He needed to go now! “I'm tired.”

Without waiting for a reply, John pushed himself from the bar and left the saloon in a hurry, heart racing in his chest. When he stood outside, he turned back and looked inside through the window, feeling a wave of heat rolling through his body when he noticed the murderer getting up to follow.

John watched him walk to the bar where he touched the abandoned whisky briefly before wrapping his gloved fingers around the neck of the bottle of John’s beer. He lifted it to his mouth and finished the little amount that was left in a hurry by John. When he put the bottle back on the bar gently, the man licked his lips with delight and stared straight at John.

Shit!

John took a step back. What did he want? John didn’t say anything! Not to his neighbors, not to his coworkers and certainly not to the police! Did the murderer realize he made a mistake and decided to kill John after all rather than risk him saying something? It was possible, that’s why John decided not to wait to swear he didn’t say a thing. That would be like serving himself on a silver plate to the man.

Instead, he ran, turning right while facing the saloon. He didn’t dare to enter the probably deserted alley and get himself killed in the same spot as the man from yesterday. Or maybe he should’ve gone for it, because he wasn’t even halfway through the street when he heard the saloon door opening behind him.

John didn’t turn to see if it was a murderer or someone entirely different, he just kept walking quickly, listening to the steps behind him. He never heard a more terrifying sound, especially when their speed increased exactly the same moment he started walking faster.

He was shaking the entire time, trying to get to his house as fast as possible but it still felt like he was going backward. Footsteps behind him were like cracks of thunders in his ears, only his racing heart and frantic breath could match how loud they were.

That was all John heard right now. No people in the distance, no dogs barking or horses pulling wagons, and certainly not the howling wind, just those three sounds constantly reminding him in how much trouble he was. He had a murderer on his tail! And as if faith was trying to torture him even more, there was no one outside to make him feel safer. To make sure that he wasn’t going to be killed the moment he was caught.

Everyone hid inside their houses or in the saloon. He should’ve stayed there, stuck to someone so he could return home with them.

“Fuck!” John cursed under his breath, finally turning left into the street where his home was. He looked back then, but the murderer didn’t catch up to him yet.

John didn’t wait for him to do that, or to make sure he was still followed. He entered a full run, rushing through the street as if the devil himself was on his tail. His lungs were burning by the time he got to the alley leading to his flat. He turned right swiftly and ran through there as well, almost bumping into one of his neighbors and stopping only when he reached the stairs. Doubling over from both exhaustion and stress, John stumbled behind the wooden fence to hide from sight, heavily sitting down on the lower steps. 

He let himself catch some air when he remembered he should probably be quiet, pretend he wasn’t there. So despite the pain in his chest, he only kept taking shallow breaths but it still sounded loud in his ears. Too loud. Not to mention his heartbeat seemed to be louder than a herd of galloping horses.

Shaking, John waited, listening as much as he could with blood rushing through his ears. He fully expected to hear footsteps at some point but they never came and John was becoming even more nervous the longer he waited for something to happen.

He had to do something, either check if he was alone or go upstairs. Either way, he was going to be seen if the murderer was here and simply played with him.

John gathered all the courage he got in him and slowly crept towards the edge of the fence, peeking out. His heart leaped up his throat when he spotted a silhouette standing near the fence of the church, unmoving, just watching.

Watching him.

John had no doubt the murderer was seeing him, even when he was barely visible. He could feel those eyes crawling all over him, seemingly seeing him even through the fence.

Shit, that was a mistake. He led the murderer to his home.

He could try to run from here. Pretend he just hid there but then he would leave the place with people. The murderer could get him then and in the open space, it would be easier for the man to escape after the kill.

Unless John would outmaneuver him. He was fairly sure he knew the city better than the murderer, at least these parts. The man was too well dressed to be from here and John had never seen him before, so he was either from the richer part of the city or just a traveler.

He could stay and wait at the bottom of the stairs for the murderer to get bored. But the man could come back, he knew where to go now to look for John. Or if he was really desperate to get rid of a witness, he wouldn’t get bored at all, no matter how long he would have to wait. He would probably just get to John eventually. 

John wasn't any closer to figuring out what to do when the murderer moved suddenly. He looked like a ghost, even though John could see his legs moving. The man kept watching him for the first few steps and then faced away and, walking back the way he came here.

John’s legs wobbled as he sat back on the stairs, listening in case the man was trying to trick him, just like he tricked John yesterday. Maybe it was a game from the beginning. He let John go only to hunt him today.

But no one was coming back, John heard only groans of some drunk fool and a wind. No steps, nothing. But he didn’t hear anything earlier either. So he checked every now and then if the murderer was really gone and not coming back.

He waited at least ten more minutes before he decided he was probably safe for now. John climbed the stairs quickly and hid in his flat, locking the door again and drawing shut the curtains in the windows, just to be sure.

He backed away from both and after grabbing a knife from the table, he sat down on the bed in the corner, not planning on going to sleep any time soon.

It appeared that another sleepless night was awaiting him.

That is, if he was going to survive it instead of ending dead on his bed with a slit throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like writing this story, it's so different to not write Arthur as a cuddly bear full of love 😂


	3. Dinner For One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the new chapter! The plot is slowly going forward and Arthur is becoming creepier.

Sleep didn’t come for John that night. Neither did the murderer but the possibility kept him awake for hours, alerted, agitated. Terrified.

Saint Denis was a city that never slept, there was always something going on and so a person could never experience quiet sleep while living there. John had a hard time getting used to the always noisy city after sleeping in barns on the countryside for years. Eventually, he learned to tune down the breaking bottles, chatter outside his window, cracking of the steps on the stairs or a train riding every now and then just dozens of feet from the building he was living in.

He felt like during his first night in the city again. Every sound was keeping him awake but instead of doing it so in an annoying way, every sound was terrifying him. Someone climbing the stairs could be one of his neighbors. Or it could’ve been the murderer, looking for him to finish the job.

Noises in the corner of the alley? A drunk. Or a murderer. A bang of the door one floor lower from John’s? Angry resident shutting it too loud. Or a murderer frustrated the next flat wasn’t the one he was looking for. A random scream at one point left John with a racing heart that couldn’t calm down for a long while.

No matter what he heard, John took it for the murderer, clutching the knife under his pillow harder while staring without blinking at the door in front of him, waiting for the spurs clanging steps to get closer, for the light falling inside through the gap between the curtains to be blocked.

Nothing of sort happened and he felt silly when even a goddamn cat yowling outside got him jumping and trembling for a second or two before he would realize he was acting like a lunatic.

But the truth was, he couldn’t take any risk, his life was at stake, if he had to act like an insane person to save it, so be it. He preferred to be paranoid for a while than dead in the next couple of days. Because he doubted it would simply end with the next night. Not for John.

Even if the murderer just tried to scare him tonight, John wasn’t going to be at peace for the next couple of days, if not weeks. The murderer knew where he lived, he could come back at any time when John would least expect it. John just had to be on alert longer than that bloodthirsty bastard was willing to play with his food.

John hoped the man was really impatient. Or that he would realize soon that John had no intention to speak to anyone about what he had seen, because he really didn’t want to get into a fight with that man if he would choose to attack. Chances were, John probably wouldn’t even get close enough to stab the bastard. He couldn’t remember if the man had a firearm but he probably had. John’s only hope then would be that maybe the man wouldn’t want to use it. Too loud.

Either way, John had no desire to find out how the eventual confrontation would end, he was perfectly happy like this, alive and not having to fight for his life any more besides his regular struggle for food. He knew he wouldn’t win, not without an insane amount of luck. John prized himself to be a good fighter, but he was thin, half-starved most of the time. He wouldn’t have a chance against that mountain of muscles he already saw two times too many.

John only managed to fall asleep in the early morning, two hours before his usual time to wake up for work at eight. The exhaustion and stress got the best of him in the end and he just… let go, not even sure when exactly he fell asleep. When he woke up again, on time like always, his internal clock never failing, he felt even worse than before falling asleep. He didn’t rest at all, the memories of the night of the murder, now also with addition of the last night, with the murderer following him, kept John’s mind restless for those two precious hours of sleep.

He almost said “to hell with it” and got back to sleep but he would be dead if he did so, only not killed by the murderer but by hunger after being fired from his job. But he still allowed himself a bit of rest, deciding to skip breakfast and shaving to lay a little while longer in bed.

He observed his flat as he did so, trying to focus on something to keep his eyes open. Everything was how it’s supposed to be, no one was sitting in the corner or standing by the door ominously. The door was still locked in fact, curtains drawn just like he left them.

Releasing a relieved sigh, he slipped his hand under the pillow to pull out the knife but it wasn’t there. Panicked, he sat up and turned around, finding only the wall there. He laughed hysterically and dropped back onto the pillow. Of course there was a wall there, what the hell did he expect?

But where the hell was the knife? Did he dream it?

John took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself and sat back up, putting his naked feet on the floor. He was up now, he might as well get up. He almost found in the very painful way where his knife went when he fell asleep. It was laying on the floor, just an inch from his foot. He was surprised he didn’t wake up when it landed there.

He laughed again and picked it up, examining it. It wasn’t anything special, just a simple knife he used to cut meat and other food. It wasn’t the sharpest or the longest but it was enough and could probably do some damage if needed.

He observed it from every angle, imagining the blood on it, like on the knife of the murderer before the man swiftly wiped it clean on his coat. John’s hand trembled for a split second and before he knew it, he put the sharp edge to his neck, just like that night in the alley.

He felt the same rush of panic and fear despite knowing he wasn’t going to kill himself. John licked his dry lips and gulped, feeling his Adam’s apple bobbing and brushing against the blade, making him shiver. When he closed his eyes, he could almost feel the sturdy body of the murderer pressing him to the wall, hear his speeded up, excited breath against his face.

John curled the fingers of his palm around his knee, squeezing it tight to stop the shaking. He couldn’t do the same with the other that started trembling and so, he quickly pulled the knife away, not wanting to slit his throat on accident.

Breathing hard, he tossed the knife away, watching with fear how it fell back on the floor, a faint stain of blood on the metal. John brought a hand to his neck and felt the pulse going crazy under the fingertips of his index and middle finger. When he pulled the hand away, the blood was there, a thin line in the middle of his palm. “What the hell is wrong with you, Marston?” he wondered loudly and stood up, walking to the bowl with water in the corner. He used it to clean the cut and wash his face from the sleep that wasn’t even there anymore. Not after what he had done just a moment ago.

With his face clean, he picked up the knife and put it away on the table where it belonged. He avoided looking at it and simply went along with his day like nothing happened. He dressed in the same dirty clothes from yesterday, shaved quickly, almost adding another cut to the one on the neck and ate something small, his stomach protesting just like yesterday. And just like yesterday, he silenced it with a smoke, this time skipping going outside.

He was kind of afraid to do so, expecting to find the murderer just behind the door, waiting. The man probably wasn’t there, he was a human, he had to sleep just like John, he couldn’t have waited a whole night for him to step outside. But what if he didn’t? He could’ve slept the night while John waited for him to break in, only to surprise him in the morning.

John couldn’t stay in his flat forever, he had work and tomorrow he needed to go to the store to buy fresh food for the week. He wouldn’t be able to stand even one day locked in his flat, the water pump for him and the neighbors was outside and he needed to drink.

He stood in front of his door, not being able to decide if he was justified acting like that or if he acted like a child right now. “Idiot,” he decided eventually and after adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder, he walked to the door, reaching for the lock. His hand was shaking, both of them in fact and he almost spilled the dirty water from the bowl he needed to empty and refill. Gripping it tighter, he grabbed the latch of the lock and tugged to the right.

His heart was racing in his chest when he opened the door slowly and found no one outside. No one was also standing at the entrance of the alley where the murderer was last night. In fact, the alley was bustling with life as people were preparing for the day like always.

John took a deep breath to calm himself and let go of the lock, walking to the railing and tossing the water over it, on the other side of the wall separating the alley from the road by the railroad tracks. Leaving the door open, he walked downstairs, welcoming his neighbors as he drank the fresh water and refilled the bowl for later. He returned with it to the highest floor, laughing at his own silliness, even if justified.

He wasn’t in the mood for laughing when after climbing the last step, he stopped dead in his tracks upon noticing something stuck in the crack of his door frame. He didn’t notice it while leaving but now it was obvious and it was begging him to pick it up.

A simple piece of yellowish paper torn from some book or notepad.

A note.

John walked around it as if it was a dangerous animal and entered his flat, looking around in panic. Empty, no one got in while he was gone for those few minutes. How could they? John was next to the stairs this whole time. But that didn’t calm John down exactly. Leaving the bowl at the table next to the bloody knife, he returned outside, looking at the note again, wondering if he should pick it up and read it or toss it away, pretending he was illiterate.

The curiosity won in the end and he took the note with a shaking hand, unfolding it. In the middle of it, in a neat and pretty handwriting, a simple question was scribbled.

_Why did you ignore my drink?_

John dropped the note like it burned and stepped away from it, stopping only when his back met the railing.

So the murderer knew for sure which flat was his. One of those sounds John heard at night, one of the steps right outside the door, the scratching, was the man leaving a note. He was just a couple of feet away, separated from John only by a door with a weak lock. The man stood on the other side of it while John stared at it with fear, gripping the knife tightly, waiting for the attack that never happened. The murderer didn’t enter, didn’t even try to get in, he just left a note.

Why? What does he want? If he wasn’t there to kill John, what else did he want to accomplish? Was he just playing? Was the note, as well as the drink it mentioned, a mocking of sorts? Was it a threat? A reminder to keep the mouth shut?

John was confused and he just wanted to run. Run far away from here and don’t stop till he would leave half the country between himself and the murderer.

But that wasn’t the option, John could only close the door and finally go to work, leaving the note where it fell on the ground, the words written on it still visible to his eyes as he stared at it while walking away.

He still had time, but John hurried to work nonetheless, just wanting to get away from his flat. Harris’ ranch, as much as he hated the man, seemed like the safest space for him right now. The murderer probably didn’t know where John worked but he knew where he was coming for a drink and where he lived.

He should ask his boss for the permission to stay at the barn for a while. Maybe alligators and Night Folks wouldn’t be such bad company?

He quickly dismissed that thought with a snort. He would rather die at the hand of some lunatic then beg someone like Harris for help, owe him something.

He could handle this. The murderer did nothing despite having a great opportunity to just kill John and silence him forever. It was probably entertaining to him to scare John right now and that’s why he was doing so, nothing more.

John liked to cut his way to work short through the cemetery, appreciating how calm this place was compared to the rest of the city, but taking the last events into consideration, he decided to take the longer route, looking back in panic every few seconds, especially when he heard a horse, even thought none of the hoofbeats resembled the ones he heard two days ago. He heard them only for a couple of seconds, but John was sure he would recognize them even in his sleep. If he was able to sleep that is. 

He got to work on time, even a few minutes before so he lingered near the ranch, observing the egrets and some other bird far away walking around in the muddy water.

John announced his arrival just a minute before eight. He would rather work free for a minute than not get paid for an hour because he was late a second.

He thought the work would help him get his mind clear, focus on something else than the horror of the last night. He couldn’t have been more wrong. While his coworkers he helped through the first two hours of work didn’t talk about the murder anymore, John couldn’t stop thinking about it himself.

Not even about the murderer but his terrifying way home last night when he heard the footsteps of the murderer just a couple of feet behind him. They were still echoing in his head, and even though he knew the man wasn’t there and especially wouldn’t be heard as clearly as on the cobble road, John still found himself looking back, turning and stopping whatever he was doing at the moment to freeze in panic when he imagined hearing the murderer again.

Just like during the night, every sound was spurring him into fight or flight reaction and it didn’t go unnoticed. Other ranch hands asked him what was wrong a couple of times when he wasn't reacting to them telling him to pass something, or keep carrying a heavy load. It happened so many times they got tired of it. He told them it was because he thought he heard a panther. Knowing about how one attacked him and scarred him for life, almost killing him in the process, they didn’t laugh at him and were understanding but they were still getting annoyed by his paranoia. Only he was causing their work to stale but they all would get yelled at for not working fast enough.

John knew it would happen eventually so he wasn’t that much surprised when Lacey stormed towards him Zachary and Joshua after John almost broke some expensive piano his boss bought for his wife. He just heard a scratching sound, like the one at night and his hands began shaking on their own, barely holding the piano all three of them tried to carry inside the boss’ house. He didn’t drop it, but panicked voices of other men as John’s side of the instrument suddenly went lower reached Lacey’s ears and he just couldn’t let that go. 

“What the hell is wrong with you, Marston?!” John looked at the man yelling, not really bothered by it. He was still too panicked after hearing that sound and dropping the piano to worry about some pretentious asshole. “You would pay for this piano if anything happened to it!”

That got a reaction from John. “I wouldn’t even be able to afford it!” he reminded the man.

“Then you better make sure you don’t break it!” John grimaced when droplets of spit hit his face. “Now get that piano inside! All of you!”

They did, not leaving even one scratch on it. Mrs. Harris was delighted by the gift and shooed them out of the house to practice on her new instrument. They had more work anyway, they couldn’t stay even if they were allowed to. Which they weren’t, Harris being jealous and paranoid bastard about his wife. He shouldn’t worry, she was very faithful to him, she didn’t even let Lacey fuck her and the man tried, John saw it with his own eyes. 

John tried to control himself better for the rest of the day. He couldn’t live in constant fear, even for a few days. But it was easier said than done and he was still skittish despite his best efforts. His coworkers wanted nothing to do with him during a break so John spent it alone in the stable, calmed down by horses that would warn him about the danger. The murderer was a human and Harris’ horses were very trusty of those, but John was convinced that if there was anyone capable of sensing if someone was a dangerous killer, it would be animals.

For some time, animals seemed to work. And to make it better, he got the job around them so he could remain calm for a little while longer as he was fixing some minor break in the cows’ pasture, focusing on not hitting his fingers while putting the nails in the gate. 

Everything went to hell when something suddenly touched his neck. He jumped up and backward on instinct, a loud screech of a scared cat informing him it was just that what touched him. But it was already too late to react. He stumbled back and bumped into one of the cows laying behind him. The animal got spooked, lifted itself on its legs and took off through the open gates towards the fields on the other side of the road.

John looked after it from the ground where he landed, still frightened after the cat scared him but now another fear joined it. Shit, he was dead if that cow dies out there.

He quickly jumped back to his feet and closed the gate, the rest of the cows agitated as well. He just secured the lock to keep them inside when he heard a yell.

“Marston!” John turned to see his boss coming towards him, furry on his face. Maybe he was going to die right now. “You lost my cow!”

“I didn’t mean to!”

Harris shoved him at the fence behind his back. John grimaced when he hit it hard. Bruises were to be expected already. “Go after it, you useless bastard!” the man yelled at him, pointing at the direction the cow ran to. “What are you waiting for?! For it to be eaten!”

John didn’t have to be told twice. He ran to the horses and grabbed the rope from the wall while clicking at Old Boy, the gelding eagerly trotting to him. “Come on, boy, let’s ride,” John said to him when climbing on his back. He didn’t bother with the saddle.

They took after the scared cow that managed to run past the fields already, right into the swamps full of gators. “Goddamn it!” John cursed and grabbed the mane in his hands tighter when he urged Old Boy to run faster. The gelding obeyed and they caught up to the frightened animal that got itself into the water. John noticed how one of the gators slipped from the shore into it.

Quickly, he tied the loop at the end of the rope and grabbed it more firmly, ready for a throw. The cow wasn’t moving much further now in the water, making it an easier target. Old Boy noticed alligators resting around and started stomping in place nervously, John shushed him and the gelding calmed down a bit before stilling, just for John to toss the lasso around the cow’s neck. “Gotcha!” he shouted and kicked with his heels to get Old Boy going.

With an additional squeeze of his thighs, the gelding turned back and jumped away from the water. The rope around the cow was tugged and the animal had no other choice but to follow hurriedly to keep up with the horse. In just a few seconds, it was back on land. John looked back to see if it was alright and it seemed like that, just dirty. There was no sight of the gator but he had no doubt they barely missed it.

John wanted to breath out in relief but couldn’t, anxiety squeezing his lungs in a suffocating embrace. The cow was safe but not him, he still had Harris to face and he suddenly felt the rushing urgency to let go of the cow, kick Old Boy into the gallop and ran away from it all.

Instead, he gripped the rope in his hand tighter and slowed Old Boy down to a trot, the cow having a hard time keeping up with the gallop. 

John was feeling more nervous the closer they were getting back to the pasture and Harris waiting there. He wasn’t alone, Lacey was there as well, both ready to insult and lecture him. And John couldn’t even be angry because it was his fault and his agitation was no excuse of what happened

Afraid, he rode closer, ready to face the punishment. Hopefully it would only be lots of screaming, not the lack of payment this week.

“Get off my horse!” was the first thing Harris said to him.

Reluctantly, John did just that, patting Old Boy on the neck as he did so. The gelding turned his head to him, wanting to sniff him but Joshua already led him away, taking the rope from John’s hands to take care of the cow as well. The other man gave John a pitiful look before he scurried away, not wanting to get hit as well by the fury of their boss.

But Harris had his eyes only at John, who already tried to make himself as small as possible. He hated doing that.

“You almost cost me a cow, boy.” Surprisingly, Harris started slow and not as loud as John expected. He honestly expected beating. Maybe that’s what would’ve happened if he would come back only with the head of the cow, the rest of it inside alligators’ jaws. “And this isn’t even the first incident today, but god help me, it was the one that would cost me a lot of money.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” He really was. He hated Harris but he would never sacrifice a cow to get back at him for all the yelling and humiliation he experienced working here.

“Sorry wouldn’t pay for my next cow, you’re lucky you got it back.”

He was aware how lucky he was, especially since it was the first time he was riding Old Boy. There was a good chance that the gelding could’ve bucked him off while near the gators but thankfully he didn’t, he remained calm and saved John’s skin. The horse deserved some carrots for the good job.

Harris sighed and John wondered what he and Lacey were thinking. He didn’t dare to check their faces to find out. He didn’t want to provoke them.

“What the hell is wrong with you today, Marston?” Harris asked after a short while. “You’re even worse than usual.”

“I don’t know.” He wished he had the answer, even if just for himself.

“What was that?”

“I said I don’t know, sir,” he repeated louder, trying to keep his voice calm while the familiar anger started bubbling deep in his stomach.

“Then you better find out,” Harris growled at him. “Or you know what, I don’t care if someone is fucking your girl if you have any, the bank kicked you out of your house, your father could be dying for all I care. You want to get distracted, do it after work, not in it.” Harris stepped closer, poking him in the chest. “I own you when you’re here, boy, your time is mine and you’ll spend it on working, not whatever problem you have.”

Suppressing the growl that started low in his throat, John looked up at Harris. He blinked and he saw the man’s face pale white, eyes without any life in them, all the blood slipping through one clean cut on the neck.

Belonged? John Marston belonged to no one.

John blinked again, the face returned to normal and he dropped his head back. “I apologize, sir, it won’t happen again,” he assured, biting himself on the tongue to stop himself from saying something he didn’t want to. He didn’t bite hard enough. “Please don’t fire me.”

Lacey snorted, as if John said something funny. It probably was to him, see John so pathetic, reduced to begging. But Harris grumbled something. “You would’ve been gone by now if you didn’t return with my cow,” the man warned him. “You do something like that again, cow or any other animal safe or not, and I’ll throw you to the gators myself. You can be a good worker when you want to, you clearly know your way around ranching, but you’re not irreplaceable, boy, and I won’t have you endangering my property because you’re distracted. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Harris walked past him, deliberately bumping into his shoulder. “Now get back to work, the gate is still broken.”

John nodded and walked to all the tools he left by the gate.

He stayed out of Harris’ way for the rest of the day and gladly left when it was time to go back home.

“What a shitty day,” he groaned into his hands, walking slowly on the side of the road. He needed a drink but he was afraid to get to the saloon. He was afraid to get back home as well but he had to, he had nowhere else to go and after today, Harris definitely wouldn’t let him stay in the barn or the stable.

Uncovering his face to see where he was going, John yawned. Scratch that, he desired bed more than a drink. He was exhausted and could sleep right here and there. To hell with this murderer, ruining John’s rest like that and almost costing him his job.

At this point, he didn’t care if the man would jump at him from somewhere and struck a knife through his heart, it would be a blessing, actually.

Somehow he didn’t collapse on his way home. He passed the cemetery and smiled at the sight of the entrance to his alley. It even made him walk a bit faster but he quickly came to a halt when someone walked out from there.

John didn’t dare to move to not bring the attention to himself, because he was sure it wasn’t one of the residents from here but a murderer. The hat looked familiar but he was still too far to see the details of it. Maybe his paranoia was back, he forgot about it after the situation with the cow, too focused on not screwing anything up more to be bothered by his fear. But now it was back and made him see things. Or so he thought.

Did he imagine the big white horse the person climbed onto as well? Or how some woman scooted away from it when it almost stomped her?

John swallowed the lump in his throat and walked the rest of the way home, watching every corner in the alley. He should be safe, people were here, exhausted after work like him, talking, eating, still working.

He climbed the stairs with a thundering heart and it was speeding up with every step till it overwhelmed all of the sounds around him once he stood in front of his door. There was no note, nothing seemed out of place outside but a crawling feeling of disturbance was all over his skin.

With a shaking hand, John pressed the handle and opened the door.

From all the things he imagined to find, a table set with dinner wasn’t one of them.

Jaw dropped and eyes open wide, John stepped inside, staring at his table. It didn’t even look like his. It was cleaned, two candles stood in the center, a bottle of expensive looking whiskey next to it, along with some flowers arranged in a vase that definitely wasn't his. There was food as well, not much, some dried sausages that could last for a while and a biscuit that still smelled fresh, like it was taken from the oven just a couple of minutes ago.

John’s mouth watered at the sight of the food and he almost jumped towards it, ready to eat all of it at once.

But what if it was poisoned?

He walked closer, noticing more details, like how the fork and single plate placed on the side of the chair weren’t his as well, too nice looking to come from this part of the city, both made from silver and china respectively. It was the same with the glasses, there were two of them, glistening in the candle light like a diamond, they were this clean and nicely done, begging to fill them with amber liquid that probably tasted like heaven.

Biscuit and the sausages were probably delicious as well, John’s stomach was turning itself into a knot, waiting to be filled with all of it but John didn’t dare.

After what seemed like an hour, he finally stopped by the table, only now noticing a piece of paper laying under the plate. He carefully pulled it out and unfolded the slightly crumbled, familiar yellowish paper. The handwriting was a little messy this time but it was clearly the same, the message just written in a hurry.

_I hope you find it to your liking_

John dropped the note on the table and ran his hands through his hair. What the hell was going on?

With a trembling breath, he blew out the candles and returned to the door, locking it before resting his forehead on the cool surface.

Jesus, the murderer broke in. He was here, inside where John stood! God knows for how many hours and what he was doing. He just walked in. John left the door unlocked, anyone could enter his flat and he was aware of that but it still made him sick. It was _his_ space and that man just went in and… did something.

What the hell even was this? What was the point? Why him?

What was he supposed to do with all of this now? He couldn’t eat it, leaving it poisoned seemed a bit excessive to get rid of someone but maybe this man was sick and liked seeing his victims suffer before death.

He couldn’t throw it away either in case it was genuine for some reason and the murderer would get mad, really considering killing John then.

In the end, John did nothing. He drank some of his piss poor quality whiskey, ate some dry bread while longingly watching the better, fresher food; washed, undressed to bed and laid down, keeping the knife under the pillow again, the feeling of the handle in his grasp comforting. The man broke in once, what was to tell some little latch would stop him from doing it again?

John stared at the prepared dinner for a while, still wondering what it meant, till it got too dark to see it any longer.

Sleep came easier this time, he was too tired to panic anymore. But just before sleep, he grabbed the handle of the knife tighter and furrowed his brows, thinking.

Why was there no blood on the knife?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m having so much fun with this story. It's a bit challenging to write the boys when they barely see each other, at least for now, but that only makes it more interesting to write and to read as well I hope! Let me know what you think!


	4. Beloved

With a spring in his steps, Arthur approached the beggar sitting by the park and tossed half a dollar into the man’s hat he had on the ground in front of him.

“Buy yourself something to eat, mister,” Arthur told him, tipping his hat at him with a smile. “Have a fine day.”

“Thank you, and you too,” the man replied, a bit amused. “Tho it seems like you already do.”

Arthur turned to him, walking away backwards, never losing the energetic steps. “Oh, I'm having a good day since Thursday, friend,” he said with a chuckle and walked away with a big grin on his face.

Ever since Thursday, he was living in a constant bliss. He never expected one encounter to change his life so much, he hardly considered himself as someone capable of any deep feelings so he didn’t think anything could affect him in any way. 

Until the evening two days ago when he laid his eyes on that scarred face for the first time.

Seeing it was like having dynamite explode in your hand without igniting it first. He was suddenly hit with a blast of emotions he learned to imitate but never really felt before. Some were familiar, like happiness, joy, excitement, the thrill of a hunt. For a moment he even felt anger. Who the hell this man thought he was, causing him to react like that with just  _ existing _ ?

But then something softer took place of the anger. Fondness, fascination, desire.

Love.

Arthur couldn’t recall any moment from his life when he ever loved another human being. He only ever loved his horses and a dog. But suddenly this one man made him feel the same and it startled him.

He almost killed the man there and then. Crushed those feelings before they could grow bigger. The last thing Arthur needed was to be attached to someone, drawn to another human.

But he couldn’t force himself to end the man’s life. He was too curious already. This stranger was captivating. At first glance, there was nothing special about him except his scars. But then Arthur really looked into those dark eyes, filled with fear and just a tiny bit of excitement, and he was lost.

What a peculiar little thing, he mused while staring at the man in front of him, teasing him like he didn’t just have a knife at his throat. Arthur never met someone so bold before. He’d seen his victims spitting with anger, crying, apathetic or even laughing nervously, but never joking.

How was he not supposed to fall in love on the spot? This man had everything, the unique look given to him by the scars, fire in his slim body and something dark hidden deep within his eyes that was calling to Arthur like an animal during a mating season.

He couldn’t not respond to that sweet call, surrender to his own feelings. And now he wanted to know more about the man.

No, not ‘more’. Everything.

He wanted to get close to him, protect him, care for him, love him.

Possess him. No matter what.

When he arrived in Saint Denis two days ago, he did so mostly to get supplies before another journey. But now plans changed with his new feelings he couldn’t ignore. They scared him at first but now he was embracing them with a smile. He never thought love would feel this good. It was different from the love he felt for his animals. It was more profound, ran deeper, and Arthur felt like he would suffocate without it, it was making him feel so alive!

He was pretty sure this man was his soulmate. Someone who would understand him, his mind, his heart, all of him. The most captivating and beautiful creature in this world that Arthur couldn’t help but adore already. He would do anything for this man, give him anything he desired, please him in any way and he didn’t even know his name yet.

It didn’t matter, he would know it soon enough. But first, he needed some place to stay.

Currently he was staying in the room above the saloon in the middle of the city, but he had no desire to spend so much money for who knows what long. He wasn’t going to leave without his Beloved so he needed a flat for now. He was watching one place in particular since that fateful evening two days ago. It was perfect, not too small, not too big and fancy, close enough to where his Beloved lived. But most importantly, it wasn’t on the main street and only one man lived there.

Arthur returned to his horse and rode there right now, soon arriving in front of the theater on the south side of the city. The flat was just behind, he was concerned at first it would be too loud for his liking while he already hated how loud this city was. Thankfully when he broke in yesterday during some screening in the theater, he didn’t hear anything. That settled it.

He dismounted and entered the alley through the iron gate that squeaked loudly. After walking two steps, he turned left and went up a few stairs. There it was, his temporary home. Nothing special, it couldn’t compete with sleeping in the tent in the wilderness but it would do for a while. At least he had some green planted in the middle of the yard and it was still much better than where his Beloved was unfortunate enough to live, among drunks and bums instead of somewhere nice like he deserved. Just thinking about it was making Arthur angry.

He passed the plants and went to the staircase leading to the long balcony with doors to a few flats. Mostly middle class lived here, someone Arthur could pass as pretty well if he wanted. Pretending to be some rich asshole just to get a big house would be too much for him. He hated their pretentious manors anyway.

Nobody was on the balcony while he walked it quietly, not wanting to disturb other residents. When he reached the last door before the turn where two more flats were, Arthur simply opened it. He left it unlocked yesterday and just like he suspected, the owner didn’t even notice because he was probably leaving the house only once a week or so.

The door didn’t make a sound when he entered the flat like his own place. It pretty much was. He ignored the sounds coming from the kitchen and went left, where the office was. From what he knew, the man living there was a writer. That explained living alone and barely leaving the house.

Arthur walked around the room, looking for something he could sell to the fence later. He was going to need a lot of money for his stay in the city. For food since he couldn’t hunt like on the road, to pay off the stable and for gifts for his soulmate of course. His Beloved didn’t appreciate the whisky but surely he would appreciate something else. Arthur just needed to find what he would like first.

He eventually stopped by the desk, where the writing machine was. That he could sell, he wasn’t going to use it. He wouldn’t dare to write to his Beloved on a machine instead of with his own hands, showing how much it meant to him. Curiously, he pushed a few buttons on it, watching some parts of the machine move before it dinged and returned to its previous position.

The sound was so loud it surely reached every room in the flat. Oh well, he shouldn’t drag it out too much anyway.

Arthur picked up the paperweight laying on the side of the desk. He weighed it in his hand, humming. Heavy enough for the paper, not heavy enough for other things.

“Who the hell are you?”

He didn’t turn to look at the owner of the place, he heard him coming anyway and the old man was no threat.

“Nice place you got there, mister,” he responded instead, putting the paperweight away. Pretty little thing in the shape of an elephant. This he was going to keep, he liked it. 

The owner got closer, his footsteps muted when he stepped onto the carpet. “I asked who the hell you are?” he repeated his question more urgently. Arthur looked at him over his shoulder, spotting the angry expression on the man’s face, but no gun in his hands. “Get out of my house!”

Arthur faced the desk again, picking up the letter opener. It was too small for his big hands, like a toy, but when he brushed the blade across the top of his palm, it left a red line of blood. He hummed in appreciation as he licked the blood from his hand.

“Are you deaf, boy?” the man snapped, getting even closer. Arthur smiled. “I told you to get out!”

“I heard you just fine,” he assured the old man, twirling the letter opener with his fingers before hiding it in the sleeve of his shirt.

“Then get the hell out!” The man got even closer, his breath quickened already. So easy. “I’ll alert the police!”

Arthur turned then, raising his hands innocently. “No need to inform the law, friend,” he said with an easy smile and dropped his hands back. The letter opener slid down his wrist, resting just on the heel of his palm. The man was two steps from him, he watched Arthur with irritation. “I just thought this place was nice, and I’m looking for a flat to live in this fine city,” Arthur explained himself, watching how the man began to slowly relax. “Would you be interested in selling it?”

The man’s expression got tight again. “No, I wouldn’t,” he refused. “And even if I would, I wouldn’t sell it to some fella that broke in!” Arthur let the corner of his lips curl just slightly, never really breaking the friendly and warm expression he had on his face. “I don’t know where you came from, but in these parts, you don’t buy houses this way. Now, I told you to get out.”

Arthur stepped away from the desk, his friendly smile transforming into a cold smirk. He didn’t miss the moment the old man’s eye grew bigger and he shivered. “You did,” he confirmed, approaching the man who immediately took a couple of steps back. Arthur looked down briefly before setting his gaze on the man again. “Couple of times actually, that was quite annoying.”

The man almost stumbled into the armchair standing on his way. He looked away for a moment to catch his balance again and Arthur’s smirk grew at the clear opening the man left him but Arthur didn't even have to use. 

“And I’ll say it again,” the man growled, trying to act tough despite trembling in fear. Arthur watched it, captivated. He could almost smell the fear on his tongue. “Get the hell away from my house! Or I’ll get the police to throw you out instead!”

“My house,” Arthur told him, forcing the man from the carpet with his approach. The man reached an open door but didn’t bail through them, determined to keep his stand. What a fool.

The man looked up at him, puzzled. “What?”

Arthur nodded at the office. “My house now,” he elaborated with a smirk, using the man’s confusion to be just close enough to him.

He let the letter opener slide into his open palm and after gripping it tightly, he took a swig and sliced the man’s throat with one clean cut, right through the artery. The blood started leaking from the wound quickly, even when the man’s hands flew up to it to stop the bleeding. The red liquid slipped past his fingers and went down his throat.

“You know holding it won’t help you, right?” Arthur asked him, cleaning the blade on the man’s shirt where the blood hasn't reached it yet. The man grabbed his wrist then, the other hand still holding the cut. He gurgled something and Arthur smiled at him before breaking the hold and pushing the old man away. He lost his balance and fell to the floor with a loud thud. “Sorry, partner, don’t want you to stain my carpet.”

Arthur turned around and walked back to the desk, putting the letter opener back in its place while the man kept drowning in his own blood behind him. Arthur listened to it with pleasure, those moments where he could slowly listen and watch the life slipping away from someone were the ones he loved the most while killing. That’s why he used revolvers only to defend himself, preferring something more personal while hunting.

The old man finally gave his last, wet breath and Arthur smiled, turning around to look at the body. The blood slowly stopped rushing out of the wound when the heart went still as well. The man died with his eyes open and he stared at Arthur helplessly, begging for help. Arthur admired the sight for a moment, every death was special and unique in its own way and he quite liked that one. Maybe he would draw it later tonight while waiting for his Beloved to come home.

He should probably go to his house right now. The man was no doubt at work by now. Arthur had no idea where he was working yet but it was past eight already, most people worked by now.

Arthur walked to the body, examining it for a moment but he didn’t find anything worth keeping. He dragged it to the hall and then to the dining area, putting it by the wall. “I’ll take care of you later, mister,” he said to the man, still staring dead ahead of him.

He needed tools first and those were in the hotel room. He would go get them on his way from his Beloved’s place.

Arthur was just about to move when something touched his legs. He looked down at the ginger cat rubbing itself against his ankles. The cat looked back and meowed loudly. Arthur picked it up and held it to his face, watching it. The cat meowed again and raised its paw, placing it on his nose.

Arthur smiled. “Ain’t you a sweet little kitty,” he cooed, holding the cat more comfortable to scratch it under the chin. The animals started to purr happily as it snuggled into his arms. Arthur looked around and spotted a can of salmon open on the counter, right next to a small plate. “You hungry? He was going to feed you?” he asked, raising the cat’s head and rubbing its throat gently. The cat started purring louder.

With a chuckle, Arthur set the cat on the table and finished preparing him breakfast. The cat dug in enthusiastically, swallowing the bits of salmon whole. Arthur petted it on the back, watching in amusement how the cat’s butt raised when he scratched the base of its tail. “Hope it’ll sustain you for a while,” he said to the animal, watching it eat. “I won’t be back for a few hours but feel free to eat your previous owner. You will actually help me with this one.”

The cat let out a short purr when Arthur scratched it by the tail one last time and then left the flat, using the key hanging next to the door to close it behind himself. Leaving the flat, he almost hit some woman with the door.

“Oh, I'm sorry, ma’am,” he said quickly, smiling friendly at the woman.

“No harm done,” she assured with a chuckle and looked closely at him, then at the door he just closed. “I’m sorry, are you working for Mr. Collins?”

“Me? No, I can barely write,” he denied before putting a little sadder expression on his face. “He was my uncle, he died two days ago, I came to collect his things.”

The woman put a hand over her chest, looking at him with sympathy. “Oh, I'm sorry, I didn’t know.” She shook her head. “Such a loss, he was rarely leaving his flat but he was always so polite. It must be hard for you and your family.”

“It was a shock, he said in his last letter that he felt okay,” Arthur lied swiftly. “But the doctor said he didn’t suffer and left in peace.” He smiled at the woman, weakly, pleased when it stirred more sympathy in her. 

“That’s good to know.” Her smile turned into wonder suddenly. “Mr. Collins never mentioned family. Are you living in the city?”

“In Valentine,” he replied without missing a beat. The woman nodded in understanding. “It doesn’t surprise me uncle never mentioned us, he was always a bit eccentric, like all the writers, I suppose,” he chuckled and the woman chuckled back.

“That’s true, he was living in his own world,” she agreed. “I heard him many times speaking to his cat, I live just next door. Oh no, that poor thing!” she gasped. “Is his cat okay?”

“It is, I just feed it,” he assured the woman.

“Will you be taking it with you as well?” she asked with worry. “Valentine is far, it may be a stressful trip for that poor animal.”

“I won’t be leaving the city actually. Uncle left me the flat, I thought about staying,” he explained. He needed as much convincing story he could come up with. “I’m not really a city folk but who would say no to the city with so many opportunities?”

“You’ll love it here, Mr…”

“Kilgore.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Miss Robins,” she introduced herself, offering her hand for a kiss.

He took it gently. Looking her into eyes with a charming smile, he leaned down to place the softest kiss on her palm, watching how she blushed under his gaze. “Pleasure all mine, Miss Robins” he replied, purring her last name.

The blush on the woman’s face darkened and she giggled nervously, practically tugging her hand back. “Oh my,” she sighed and giggled again. “What a charmer.”

Arthur didn’t answer, he simply smiled back and tipped his hat at her. “Have a good day, Miss Robins.”

“You too, Mr. Kilgore.”

Arthur dropped his friendly mask the moment he turned his back to her. His horse was where he left it, hitched to one of the posts on the street. “Hey, girl,” he greeted her, stroking her strong neck. Rosa, because that was his Shire’s name, nickered softly at him and he smiled. “Let’s go visit our favorite place again, shall we?”

He was already there before dawn to leave the note for his Beloved but now he wanted to do more.

He climbed onto his mare and rode to the slums, hating that he couldn’t just gallop there like he wanted. People on the streets were so slow, not understanding how much he needed to be in a certain place.

That’s why he hated big cities and stayed away from them whenever he could.

He finally arrived and left Rosa by the church where some nun was trying to teach a couple of kids to read. Not sparing them any more attention, Arthur entered the alley leading to his Beloved’s flat. Not many people were around here at this hour, except some drunk laying in the bushes.

Perfect.

He walked to the man and kicked him in the stomach. The drunk groaned and curled around himself.

“Get up,” Arthur told him, not even looking at him but at the highest floor of the building.

“Wha… Who are you?” the drunk asked.

Arthur looked down at him and with a sigh, he grabbed the man and lifted him off the ground, pushing him against the wall behind him.

“You live here?” Arthur asked.

The man narrowed his eyes at him. “Who’s asking?”

Arthur tugged him toward himself only to push him against the wall again. The man hissed when his head collided with the wall. “Me,” he answered with a growl. “I’m asking.”

“Yeah, I live here,” the man moaned, holding his head where he was hit. “What is it to you? I don’t have any money for you to steal.” The drunk looked closely at him. “Are you the landlord's new debt collector?”

“I don’t care about your debt.” Despite being threatened right now, the man relaxed. “There is a man living here, on the highest floor. He has scars on his face.”

“What about him?” the man asked, suspicious.

“What’s his name?”

“I ain’t gonna tell you.” He was, the man just didn’t know that yet. Arthur had ways to make people speak, but today he wouldn’t need to resolve to violence. Not when the man provided him such useful information just a second ago. “Hey, what are you doing?” the man panicked when he saw Arthur reaching for his knife.

Arthur smirked, ignoring the knife and reaching into his pants pocket instead. He pulled a one dollar bill from it and pushed it at the man’s chest. “Maybe I care about your debt after all,” he said to the drunk, who stared at the money with wide eyes. Arthur stepped away and the money almost fell to the ground but the man caught it quickly and checked if it was real. Once he was satisfied, he hid the bill in one of his shoes. “The name,” Arthur repeated urgently. 

“I don’t know, mister,” the man snorted. “How valuable it really is for you?”

“Certainly more than your life is to you,” he said seriously, taking a threatening step towards the man who quickly backed away. 

“Okay, okay!” Arthur waited, the man watching him nervously. “It’s John Marston.”

John Marston.

Such a nice name. Simple but strong, just like the man it belonged to. “John Marston,” he repeated, tasting both names on his tongue. His shivered at how they sounded from his lips, he couldn’t wait till he would whisper the first name into his Beloved’s ear. Or say it sweetly along with the ‘good morning’ after waking up in bed together.

“Yeah, John Marston,” the man repeated. From his mouth, the name sounded wrong. He didn’t deserve to say it if he couldn’t do it with enough respect. “Can I go now, mister?”

“Get lost,” Arthur growled at him and the man scrammed, running from the alley.

With a huff, Arthur turned and walked to the stairs, his heartbeat increasing with every step he was taking. He was just about to enter John’s flat for the first time, see how the man lived and he was so excited.

His note from the morning was laying in front of the door. Arthur ignored it and entered the flat instead, surprised when he found it open for anyone to enter. John should really close his door after himself. With so many crooks around it wasn’t safe, what if someone who shouldn’t would enter and steal something? Or destroyed? 

At least he was closing it at night. Arthur checked. 

Just like he suspected, the flat was small. A tight space no human should live in, especially his soulmate. There was mold on the walls, the roof looked like it was leaking during heavy rains, there was only a small furnace to keep John warm during colder nights and everything was poor quietly, including the bed that was way too small for such a tall person like John. 

Those conditions made him angry. He knew John couldn’t live in a neat house like his new place, but it still surprised him how bad it was. He couldn’t let his Beloved live like that, but what could he do right now? If he could, he would give John the bedroom of the queen of England herself, with a bed draped with satin or whatever fancy sheets the rich had.

But he couldn’t even take the man to his own flat, he wanted John to come with him willingly, not just snatch him from the street and hold him like a prisoner. He was more than that.

John was obviously scared of him right now and very confused, but he was going to understand Arthur meant him no harm. Unless he would want otherwise of course. John already loved him too, he just needed to realize it and Arthur was going to help him with that. They just needed to get to know themselves better, so the man could see as well that they were meant to be. Then Arthur would treat him like the king he was and take him from this awful place somewhere nicer.

With them being soulmates, he had no doubts John would enjoy sleeping in the wilderness with him, in one tent. If this is how their future was going to look like, Arthur could handle seeing his Beloved suffer in those conditions a bit better. 

He had to give John that, he made it look tidy. The bed was made, there were no spider webs in the corners and cockroaches weren't running around. He obviously was taking care of this place as best as he could with how little money he had.

That was another thing that angered Arthur. John, wherever he worked, no doubt worked hard and couldn’t even afford a decent place. It shouldn’t be like that. He shouldn’t have to worry about getting flooded during rain or not having money for food. The man was thin, he felt it with his body when he pressed John against the wall that night. Just thinking about how John’s ribs were probably sticking out under his skin was making Arthur sick.

John looked like a proud man that would sooner die than ask for help, so Arthur couldn’t expect him to ask for one. They were going to start a new life together soon, but until then Arthur was going to do as much as he could to support him without making John feel cornered or obligated to pay back for the help. He would never forgive himself if he would just let John live like that and did nothing to make his life at least a tiny bit better. 

He could start right now and he knew how. He had a whole day to plan.

Arthur closed the door behind himself finally and started exploring to find more about John. He had a few books on the shelf above his bed, so he guessed right about him knowing how to read. He looked like a smart man, of course he could read, his Beloved was no illiterate.

He checked the titles of those books, happy that he read most of them. They already had so much in common!

The cupboards were mostly empty, with no food, confirming that John wasn't eating enough. But in his trash Arthur found what the man had been eating. Canned beans mostly and other vegetables. No signs of animal bones, so meat was a delicacy. There were also pieces of molded bread.

It wasn’t telling Arthur much what John liked to eat, he probably ate those things because he had no other choice. But that was okay, they could explore what John liked to eat together. Arthur would introduce him to some fine dishes he learned to cook over the years on the road, discovering many cultures living in America. John was surely going to love them and Arthur would enjoy cooking for him.

John didn’t possess much, his dresser was only filled with a couple of rumpled clothes. Arthur picked one shirt and put it to his face, inhaling the man’s scent. He moaned when it overwhelmed him, stronger than the night they met. John smelled so good, like horses, sweat and wet ground. He worked at the ranch perhaps? Possibly. 

The smell was causing his blood boil with desire and hands to shake. Curling his fingers in the material tightly, Arthur took another deep breath of that sweet scent and then folded the shirt neatly, doing the same with all the other clothes and putting them back in the dresser, humming to himself while doing so. He found a box of matches then and left it where it was to move to another part of the room.

A knife laying on the table caught his attention, especially when he noticed blood on it. Was it John's? Arthur doubted the man cut someone else. It had to be his. 

Thrilled, he picked up the knife and looked at partially dried blood, so richly brown. He brought the knife closer to his mouth, his heart thundering when he stuck out the tongue to lick the red liquid. 

His eyes dropped closed on their own when he felt the first metalic taste of the blood, causing his mouth to water. One lick was enough to make him crave more and soon after the first, he gave another, slowly sliding his tongue on the side of the blade as he tasted John. 

And God, he tasted devine! He thought tasting his spit from the bottle was good. This was so much better, all he could think of now was sinking his teeth in John's flesh till he would bleed in Arthur’s mouth, moaning sweetly at the pain. 

A rush of excitement ran through his body at the thought and he released a soft sigh as he concentrated on the taste in his mouth - sweet, rich, addictive. 

John. His John 

Arthur opened his eyes, his breathing faster than earlier, so was the heartbeat. He felt warmer too. Warmer and so thrilled. If it already tasted so good, he couldn't imagine how the fresh, warm one was going to taste. 

Smiling, he licked the remains of blood on the knife, humming with delight as he savored that wonderful taste of his Beloved. He put the now clean knife back on the table and continued his exploration, the taste of blood still on his tongue when he sat down on the bed, displeased when he found it hard and uncomfortable to even sit on. 

When he lied down, it was even worse, his legs were hanging from the edge, he would have to curl uncomfortably to fit on it. John was the same height, it couldn’t be good for his back. The only good thing about it, but only for Arthur, was that it smelled like John too. He curled on his side with closed eyes and just laid like that for a moment, nuzzling his face into the pillow. He imagined John laying next to him, against him, curled into his chest and on a bigger bed, sleeping soundly without a care in the world. Safe, protected. Loved. 

Arthur smiled and opened his eyes. Such a sweet future awaited them.

He spent some time in John’s flat, mostly laying in his bed, reluctant to stop smelling him. But after an hour or so, he decided to leave. He still had some things to do, including his plan to surprise John tonight with dinner and show him how much he cared about him. He didn’t want his Beloved to be scared of him and for that, he needed to give him a sign that his intentions for him were pure and coming from deep love, not desire to hurt. 

Preparing a meal seemed like a good idea to do so.

So he left the flat, making sure he wasn’t seen by anyone. First thing he did was return to his hotel room and move his belongings to his new flat. He was never carrying much, only some sets of clothes for different weathers, though he might have to change that now that he had John to court. He could use some nicer clothes.

He also carried some guns with him and most importantly, his tools he needed to use on Mr. Collins’ body. The man’s cat greeted Arthur with a cheerful meow when he entered the flat again, carrying everything inside. 

“Hey there, puss,” he cooed at the animal. The cat needed a name but that could wait.

Arthur left his guns in the bedroom and took his tools to the dining area. His new cat left some bloody paw prints around the floor but that was fine, Arthur was going to make a bigger mess soon anyway.

He ditched his shirt, hat and neckerchief, and switched pants to the one that already had blood stains on it that he couldn’t wash out. Ready like that, he began the work.

Cutting the body to pieces was never easy, even with a saw, and in this case it took some time as well. After he was done, Arthur’s front was covered in blood and so was the kitchen, splashes of red everywhere. 

He washed in the sink, cleaning the blood from his chest, arms and hair and then did the same with the kitchen after he packed the body parts in some suitcases. He would dispose of everything today before it could start rotting and alarming someone.

His new cat got some blood on it too so Arthur cleaned it as well and then dressed back into his everyday clothes. He fed the cat before leaving once again, carrying two suitcases with him. He tied it to the saddle and took off towards the swamps to get rid of them and start his search for the first position on his list of things to do for John’s surprise.

He left the city on the north, turning left before some ranches. Once he left people behind, he dismounted and disposed of some of the body. Alligators were going to feast today. He wasn’t even back on a horse when he heard one crunching Mr. Collins’ leg with its powerful jaws.

Whistling, Arthur nudged Rosa to trot along the road for a while but he soon turned into the swamps, knowing he wouldn’t find what he was looking for by the road. His mare slowed down because of the mud but she walked through it with no problem.

Arthur stopped whistling then, his nerves starting to rise in him. It felt strange, he was rarely nervous, only when it was his life at stake. “I hope he’s going to like my present, Rosa,” he voiced his worries. “He didn’t like my whiskey, I don’t want him to hate that too and make a fool of myself.” Rosa snorted, shaking his head at him. “Yeah, you’re right, I’m just being silly. The whisky probably surprised him and he bailed, that’s all. But his next surprise will be in his home so he won’t escape. Not from the surprise, not from me”

Rosa strolled through the swamp like she owned the place. She didn’t mind gators resting all around them, she was a brave girl and with her help, he found the first flower, a pretty white orchid. Arthur stopped next to the tree it was growing on and dismounted, carefully picking up the flower.

“Think he’s going to like it, girl?” he turned to Rosa and showed her the orchid. She sniffed it before trying to eat it. “Hey! It’s for John, not for you.” He looked at the flower again, it had thin, white petals and seemed so delicate in his hands. He was afraid it wasn’t going to survive the ride back to the city. He put it gently in Rosa’s saddlebag and mounted again. “Let’s look for more.”

They rode all around the swamp, picking more different orchids and even a vanilla that smelled gorgeously. He packed them all with the biggest care, already excited to arrange them in the vase. He never did this before, any of this really, but he was willing to do anything for John.

On part of the preparation was out of the way, now back to town to do the rest. He was on his way, imagining John’s reaction to the surprise when something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He halted Rosa and looked closely through the veins falling from the trees around them. There was a house there, right in the middle of the swamp.

Curious, he rode closer, approaching the house from the front where he could see a man on the porch. The man saw him as well.

“Hey there, friend,” the stranger greeted him, smiling disturbingly. Disturbingly to anyone else, that is. Arthur only cocked his head, curious. “You look tired. And hungry.” He was hungry, that was true, he didn’t eat anything since the last day but he didn’t have time for that. There was still a lot to do. “Why don’t you step in for a short rest and some food?” the man offered, opening his door and pointing inside, already on his way there as well.

Maybe some desperate fool would fall for it. Arthur was neither and if he had more time, he would gladly show the man just who exactly he was trying to lure into an obvious trap. But he was going to remember that place, it looked interesting, he could use a safehouse like that in case it would get too dangerous to stay in the city. He was always careful with killing his victims but mistakes happen to anyone.

“Maybe some other time,” he replied to the man, already turning Rosa away.

“Well, come by any time,” the man told him with a smile. Arthur smiled back, fighting the predatory grin trying to replace it. “My doors are always open for you, stranger.”

“Will do, friend,” Arthur promised, trotting away. “Will do,” he repeated with a chuckle.

It turned out to be a very busy day, Arthur couldn’t remember where was the last time he worked so much in one day, probably on his last day in the honest work over twenty years ago. Upon returning to the city, he left the flowers in John’s flat to not risk crushing them at some point. He then disposed of the rest of Mr. Collins body, feeding more gators and other animals living in the swamp. He bought more food for his cat he decided to name Mandarine, bought something for himself and of course for the dinner he was preparing for John and himself. He didn’t forget about some whiskey as well to make John more relaxed while they would talk.

Everything was coming nicely together with some stuff from his new house. John didn’t have any kitchen utensils except a knife so he took some from his house and carried it to John’s flat, tidying it up a bit.

Setting everything up was surprisingly fun. He wanted it to be perfect for John when he would come home from work, most likely tired and in need of some good meal. Deciding what to put on the table was the hardest part, whiskey being the easiest. With what John was drinking at the saloon, Arthur figured out he would like something better for a change, so he bought the expensive brand, not regretting any cent spent on it.

But food was tricky. He bought some sausages and that’s all. He still had the last thing to get but he waited with it for much later to have it fresh.

Checking if everything was to his liking, Arthur left John’s flat hopefully for the last time today and went to finish the preparation. He was getting nervous again, worrying if he had enough time for the finishing touches. He only had a vague idea when John was finishing work and he was sure he had about an hour still left but he could never know. He would have to ask tonight. Or follow John the next day if they would be too busy getting to know each other to ask about such trivial things.

He was returning to his house to change, not wanting to show himself to John in clothes that weren’t his best. On his way there, he visited the bakery that was slowly getting ready to close for the day.

The ring above the door announced his arrival and he was quickly gritted by a middle aged woman, wiping her hands from flour. “Good evening, sir, how can I help you?”

“Hello,” Arthur greeted back with an easy smile. “I know you’re closing right now but I was wondering if you could help me.”

“I’ll try,” the woman promised, smiling back at him.

Arthur looked her over, noticing a wedding band on her finger. Married, perfect. Hopefully she loved her husband. “My wife will be returning home soon and I want to surprise her,” he started explaining. He didn’t even has to play the dumb smile that no doubt graced his lips. “I’m no baker so I thought about buying something warm and fresh for her. You think you could make a freshly baked biscuit for me?”

“Oh, of course!” she agreed immediately. “That’s so sweet of you to do that, I bet she’s going to love it! We usually don’t do that, bake so late I mean, but we don’t get such lovely requests either so I can make an exception.”

“Perfect.” Arthur grinned at the lady while picking up some money from his satchel. “I’ll be back in half an hour, will it be ready by then?”

“Of course.” She took the money he offered her. “Maybe something else to go with that? Some cookies? A pie for a dessert?”

“No, biscuit is fine,” he assured. He needed to remember that place to come there some other time as well, maybe for that pie she was offering. John would probably like a good pie. And if that woman was so eager to do what he wanted, it would be a shame not to use it to his advantages. “I’ll be back soon, thank you so much for doing this.”

“It’s no problem. I bet your wife is going to love it.”

“I hope so,” he admitted nervously.

Half an hour later, washed and dressed in new clothes, he was coming back to John’s place with some biscuits. It was still warm when he set it on the table and lit up the candles next to it, finally having everything ready.

Now only wait.

He took a seat on the only chair watching how the beam of light falling through the gap in the curtains in the window was getting smaller. Any moment now John could arrive. He listened closely to his steps, jumping every time he heard someone outside or climbing stairs. But it was never his beloved and he wasn't sure if he should be annoyed or relieved.

Usually he was a patient man but this? This was stressful and he could barely sit in one place, being both excited at the prospect of seeing John up close again, and terrified of his reaction to the dinner. He couldn’t even sketch like he planned, his hands shaking too much.

While he was sure John wouldn’t hate him for it, he could still dislike it and Arthur feared it the most. He didn’t want to disappoint John right after a tiring day of work. Or at any other moment. He wanted to please him and make him happy always, even if John would forgive him mistakes because he loved him.

“Get a grip, Morgan,” he scolded himself. “He’s going to love it, why wouldn’t he?”

It was perfect. More food than John ate in a while probably, a good whisky, pretty flowers, candles…

Arthur swept his eyes over everything, feeling panic stirring in his stomach.

What the hell was he actually doing, exactly?

This was wrong, he couldn’t possibly think that John would enter, see all this and be amazed, and then he and Arthur would spend the rest of the night chatting. 

This was too forward. Too bold. They only knew each other for two days and talked only once. Arthur never courted anyone but surely this wasn't the way to do it! Dinner this early in the relationship? Ridiculous!

He needed to do it right! Learn more about John first, treat him right, like a gentleman, not like some common whore. Seduce him, not come onto him the third day since they met each other. 

Slow pace, that’s what he needed. He had time. John clearly wasn’t aware of anything between them yet, anything too forward could scare him and make it harder for Arthur to help him realize they belonged together. 

When you want to catch a frightened horse, you don’t run at it, you walk closer slowly, letting it know you first.

John was like a frightened horse right now but Arthur could tame him. No, not tame. He already was tamed. By who or what, he didn’t know, but whoever did it, Arthur was going to fix it, release the wild mustang that was inside that frightened horse and once he did it, John would be free to embrace both his true nature and his love he had for Arthur already, both buried deep inside. 

It was fate that they met that night. 

Arthur looked at the dinner again, feeling down that he had to leave it and he wasn't going to be here to witness John’s reaction, be with him, watch him happily eat something delicious, talk with him. He wondered how his laugh sounded. But this was for the better.

Making a decision, Arthur pulled the journal from his satchel and ripped a piece of paper, quickly scribbling a few words to John so he wouldn’t feel more confused than he was already going to be. Arthur hoped that he would be able to eat dinner with his Beloved soon enough.

But not today, sadly.

He left everything as it was and exited the flat, hopping that John wasn't coming back yet. He wasn’t. In a hurry, Arthur left the alley and went to get Rosa he left a little further from here so John could be surprised by his presence as well as by the dinner.

He rode off to not be noticed. This wasn’t how he imagined this evening to go but maybe John would still enjoy the dinner and it wasn't going to scare him that much. Arthur really wanted to know what was making him so scared, what was blocking him from feeling what Arthur was feeling already. 

He was going to find out without scaring his precious Darling more. As sad as it made him to leave dinner just for John, it was a right call. He would stick to watching from afar, leaving gifts and notes in John’s house, keeping him safe and making his life easier for now. There would be time for more later, for many dinners and passionate nights in each other's arms.

Because now that he had him, Arthur wasn't going to let John go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur, this whole chapter: *strolling through town to Walking On Sunshine*
> 
> It was the first but certianly not the last chapter from Arthur's pov! I want to dive into his head more, it's fun! He's so fucked up and unstable, it's a nice change from the sweet cowboy I usualy write, so it's a challenge to portray him in this new light. But I'm having fun so far!
> 
> Here's Arthur's precious baby Rosa!  
> https://whydoihavetoart.tumblr.com/post/643845982911594496  
> My wife is so talented y'all!


	5. Guardian Angel

John woke at 6am like usual. He laid on his side and the first thing he noticed was the dinner from tomorrow still on the table.

“So it wasn't a dream,” he mumbled to himself and turned onto his back, covering his eyes with his forearm. “What the hell?” he asked loudly and sighed.

He laid like that for a few more minutes, just trying to figure things out. So he apparently had a loon person after him. And that loon happened to be a dangerous murderer too, who broke into his house and made him dinner last night, even leaving flowers with it.

If it wasn’t so creepy and John was a woman, he would’ve thought the fella was in love or something. 

John snorted and finally got up, pulling out the knife from under his pillow. There was no need for it tonight, he didn’t hear anyone breaking in or walking around. And he was alive still, that was the biggest clue that the murderer wasn’t here. But John was going to sleep with it for a little while longer, just in case. Maybe he should even start leaving the house with it. It would certainly make him feel safer, even if just a little.

John took the knife with him and walked to the table, looking at the food again. His stomach rumbled at the sight and John grimaced. He was so tempted to eat it all in one go, he was always so hungry. But this could be poisoned and even if it wasn’t, he didn’t want the murderer to think he liked his gift and encourage him to keep playing with him.

But it would be such a waste to throw away so much food or let it get bad.

John’s stomach rumbled again, louder this time. He put his hand on the belly and swallowed the saliva that his mouth collected in just a few seconds. Surely one bite couldn’t hurt. He was always so close to starving, he couldn’t allow himself to refuse good food. Who knows if he won’t get fired today? This biscuit and sausages could keep him fed for a few days alone. And whisky was a nice addition too. 

Besides, not every day he got a chance to eat something this good.

Without considering it longer, John sat by the table and brought the biscuit closer to himself, cutting himself a slice. It was really soft and it still smelled delicious and fresh, like it was baked in the evening. John almost moaned when he took a first bite. God, it was so good! Before he knew it, the whole slice was gone and John was picking up crumbs from the table, not letting anything go to waste.

One slice should be enough, he had a sausage too after all and he needed it all to last him a few days, but he couldn’t help himself, he cut another one. It had been a long time since he ate something this good. He was always buying biscuits from the market and it was good, but this one? This one was something else.

John chewed it as long as he could, till the piece in his mouth would turn into a wet, mushy mash, savoring the taste as long as he could and then swallowing it with a smile. His stomach craved for more but John forced himself to push the biscuit away and cover it with a piece of cloth to not let it dry too quickly.

Licking his lips from crumbs, he moved to sausages next, taking one and cutting a small slice. He was almost shaking with excitement when he put it in his mouth and his taste buds were attacked with a wonderful flavor of meat combined with various spices. He let out another moan and took the next bite.

When was the last time he ate breakfast with a smile on his face like right now? He couldn’t remember. He was so happy he could finally eat something good and tasty and not another can of beans, that he completely forgot this could’ve been poisoned. But after two slices of biscuit and three bites of the sausage he was still fine, nothing seemed wrong. Only his stomach was constantly rumbling because it wasn't nearly enough to satisfy John completely and he was still hungry but he made himself stop for now. He could use this free food to save some money today since he wouldn’t have to buy as much food as usually on the payment day.

“Damn, I ate like a king today,” John joked while pouring himself a glass of whiskey to finish this wonderful breakfast. He looked at the amber liquid at the bottom of the crystal clear glass. It almost felt wrong to use such a nice thing instead of something cheap and dirty or simply drinking straight from the bottle, but what the hell? He got those glasses, he could use them since he couldn’t sell them in fear of the murderer getting angry for it.

“Well, cheers to you, Mr. Lunatic,” he toasted with a chuckle and downed the whole thing in one go.

Damn, did it tasted differently than what he was usually drinking. Richer, didn’t burn as much but just right while it slipped down John’s throat before settling with a pleasant warmth in his stomach. John licked his lips from any droplets that might’ve been left on them and set the glass back on the table with a sigh.

Damn, that was good, all of it. He regretted not eating it yesterday when the biscuit was still really fresh and probably tasted even better. John stared at the whole table, at all the food, nice plate, glasses, candles, a vase and the flowers in it. A lot of effort for a simple joke or attempt to kill someone, especially since it wasn’t the latter. So what it was, really? He was confused, to say the least, he really didn’t know what it all meant, why the murderer fed him and set it all up so nicely.

And he probably shouldn’t question it, just be glad that he was alive, got a free food that wasn’t poisoned and hope that it was the first and only time he had to deal with it. That the murderer had his fun watching him freak out and would leave him alone now.

John got up from the table and started preparing for work. He took some fresh clothes from his closet, frustrated when he found his favorite shirt in the wrong drawer. Happened the same to his pants. He unfolded both and put them on his underwear. While buttoning his shirt, he noticed a piece of already familiar paper laying on the ground in front of the door, slipped in under it.

John stopped and stared at it, not sure if he wanted to open it and read what’s inside. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He doubted it was saying that he would die in a few hours from the poison that was in the food, the murderer couldn’t expect him to eat it only in the morning.

But anything else that could be in it wasn’t really encouraging to read the note either. But John was too curious to just ignore and go with his day. It would bug his mind all the time until he would finally read that thing. The bad thing was, the note was still going to be on his mind even if he opened.

He still did it. He bent to pick up the paper and opened it with shaking hands. The handwriting inside was neat again, not written in a hurry like the last one probably was. He was this close to finding the murderer in his own house, it was making him sick. He was still convinced he saw him riding off on that big, white horse. Who knows what would’ve happened if John caught the man in the act. Maybe he wouldn’t even be alive.

The note wasn’t long, or particularly frightening for that matter. That’s what made it so scary. That and how it ended.

_I hope you slept well, John._

John crumbled the note in his fist and let out a shaking breath through his nose. 

This bastard knew his name already. John expected it to happen sooner than later but not this soon. Someone from the neighborhood had to spill the beans already. Whoever it was, John hoped they were dead. He would do the same if he was probably threatened with death, but it still angered him that someone talked. He would gladly find out who it was and teach them a lesson to be quiet, but he really didn’t want to make any enemies for himself around here. Someone told the murderer his name but maybe they could still keep him safe and scare the man away when he would snoop around John’s flat.

John threw away the note in the bucket he kept for trash and finished preparing for work. Just as he was closing the door, he changed his mind and got back inside to take his knife with him, hiding it in his bag. That prepared, he finally left for work, hoping that this day would end better than the last. He didn’t want Harris to not pay him for some work done wrong. Or for a cow killed by a gator. John would be left without payment for months if he would have to pay back for it. He was sure he would starve long before that.

Walking through the alley, he couldn’t help but watch other people that lived here. Some of his neighbors greeted him cheerfully and he responded in the same way but deep inside he was angry at them. He wondered which one of them, now smiling at him like they were his friends and nothing happened, told a dangerous murderer what his name was. It didn’t matter that someone probably had a good reason to do this or that that creep knowing his name didn’t really change that much since he already knew where John lived, John was still mad. He thought people here consider him as their own, he should’ve expected he was and always would be an outsider and the first to be thrown to be eaten by a lion. He lived here but he was just still that one lone man keeping for himself most of the time.

John stepped into the main street, looking around cautiously, trying to spot the murderer somewhere but he only saw the locals going with their lives. Relieved, he headed towards the cemetery.

His relief didn’t last long. Passing the church, something caught his attention. He thought at first it was a priest or a nun, or some bum that passed out drunk, he couldn’t tell only with the corner of his eye. But then he looked right fully and his heart jumped to his throat.

The murder was standing right fucking there! He was leaning against the church’s wall between it and the fence, smoking and watching John, as if he was waiting for him to pass by. John stopped against his best judgement, his legs suddenly felt like they were made of iron and he couldn’t move them. Instead, he stared back in fear.

The murderer didn’t say a thing, he didn’t blink, didn’t smile, he just took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled the smoke calmly. He looked so normal in the daylight, like a regular person that John would pass on the street the other day and didn’t pay much attention to. Maybe only a little. But he was paying attention now, not being able to look away. He had no idea what was keeping him still and unable to look away, but he felt frozen. 

He finally took a step back when the murderer tossed the butt of his cig on the ground and then moved altogether. John expected the man to jump him like three days ago during their first meeting but it didn’t happen, he simply walked away.

John watched him disappear behind the church, and only when he couldn’t see that lunatic anymore, he finally got the control over his legs back and hurried away with a racing heart, looking behind himself every few steps to make sure he was really safe. It seemed that he was and he didn’t feel watched either. Still, John only slowed down when he passed the cemetery, and even then he didn’t feel completely safe but that wasn’t anything new these days.

He felt better only when he reached Harris’ ranch and was among people again. He tried to lose himself in work but no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts were coming back to the murderer and what he tried to accomplish.

He huffed angrily and with effort as he tossed a bale of hay on the ground in goats’ pasture. He watched them eat while still thinking about his problem. He really didn’t know what to do to get rid of that man.

John was sure it was just a simple outlaw and that night in the alley would be the last time they saw each other. But there was something more to that man, something John couldn’t put his finger on, and he was afraid to discover that in fear of what would happen to him then. If the man wouldn’t kill him after all.

It would be a blessing really. Be simply killed than followed around before it. But something was telling him it wasn’t what was going on. He stood by his opinion that it was too much effort for it to be a simple cat and mouse play that would end with a mouse being killed. The murderer would’ve killed John already if it was only that. And he wouldn’t have bought John food. So far it seemed like a game of some sort that John didn’t like, because he didn’t know the rules or what the goal even was. For him it was probably different than for the murderer anyway.

But if it wasn't just dragged out murder, then what? Why follow one man like that?

Whatever it was, John hoped the man would get bored soon because he had no idea how long he would be able to continue living in so much fear and anxiety.

“Why me and not some other poor fool?” he complained loudly to the goats. He was so tired of this already and it only seemed like the beginning. The murderer was playing some sick game with him for his own entertainment. Even if the man didn’t want to kill him, it didn’t mean John wanted someone watching him all the time and breaking into his house while he wasn’t in it, especially by someone capable of killing without remorse. 

Because even being harmless as he was right now, the murderer was still affecting John’s life more than John liked, both mentally and at work, where he was scolded a couple of times for being distracted. Thankfully it didn’t end with another chase after a cow or any other farm animal, but John didn’t want to get even into the smallest trouble. There have been too many of them recently already. And they were happening because he couldn’t stop thinking about the murderer following him. Watching him, going through his things.

The man was probably at his house now but John still kept looking towards the road every now and then, expecting to see him there, leaning over a fence and watching just like in the saloon or in any other places John met him already. And if he wasn’t doing that, John kept looking for a reason the man had to follow him. And doing both was slowing him down in his work. Both Harris and Lacey already yelled at him for it, called him stupid and useless. John wanted to see them being useful after he would break their fucking necks!

They were making him so angry with their complaints, even if justified. At least it was some other emotion than fear he was feeling all morning but it didn’t help him focus exactly.

He was so glad to finally be done with work after twelve hours. All he had to do now was get his payment and be on his way, try to rest a bit before another day. He doubted he would succeed but he had to try, even with a dangerous murderer knowing where he lived. 

One by one, ranch hands were taking their money from Harris, with Lacey standing right next to him and acting like he was being important while in reality he just waited for his own money, bigger than theirs of course but still shit compared to what Harris was getting from the work of all of them. John thought it wasn't fair.

“And Marston as the last one,” Harris said when Joshua walked away with his payment. John pushed himself from the fence he was leaning against and walked to his boss, trying to not look too angry. “Just like at work today.”

“Sorry, sir,” he apologized. With money on the line, he didn’t want to try being sarcastic. He didn’t even roll his eyes and his hair was blocking them from Harris to notice anything.

“Yeah, you always are,” Harris noticed mockingly. John saw Lacey smirking. “You know why you don’t have your own ranch?”

John didn’t want to talk, he just wanted to get his money and leave. But he knew his boss was expecting an answer. ”No, sir.”

“Because you’re lazy.” Harris waved the money in front of his face. John felt like a dog that someone just showed a piece of meat to and forbade to eat it. If he tried to snatch the money right now, he would probably don’t see them for the next week. Fucking Harris. “You never take the job seriously, you just think about the money as if it was the most important part of the job.”

Wasn't it?

“I find joy in what I do,” Harris continued. “I worked hard for what I got, harder than you, sometimes even for free. Maybe I should stop paying you for a while.”

“Please don’t.” He hated that he had to beg. That Harris could do what he was threatening him with and nobody would even blink. Hell, some would probably applaud him. 

“See, that’s what I’m talking about.” Harris pushed the money into John’s hand. He quickly clutched them and hid inside his bag, feeling the handle of the knife right under his fingers. How easy would it be to pull it out and slice those two bastards? John gripped the handle. “Money, money, it’s always just money. The lack of it would certainly motivate you.” As if wanting to survive wasn’t motivating him enough already. He was still here, wasn’t he? “And maybe you would finally start working properly like you’re capable of. Because if you won’t you better find yourself a new job.”

John bit his tongue so hard to not speak something that he felt a metallic taste of blood. “I’ll work hard, sir,” he promised, putting his feet behind him. “Can I go now.”

Harris waved a hand at him and turned around. “See you tomorrow, Marston. A new week for you to prove that you’re more than some lazy bum.”

John almost put the knife through the bastard’s back.

Almost.

He kept his hand on the knife as he walked away, and only released it while he reached the market in town. He needed to buy a few cans, the biscuit and sausages wouldn’t last him forever. He didn’t have to buy all that today, but he was already used to visiting the market on Sunday so he might as well do it. Besides, he promised Old Boy a carrot.

He wanted to deal with it as fast as possible and get away from this place. He hated it, especially on Sundays when he wasn’t the only one getting his weekly payment. It was hard to walk around, the market was packed with people bumping into him, being loud and in a hurry, trying to get lower prices or arguing about products. John just wanted to get some fresh vegetables and fruits and be on his way to general stores where he was going to buy some cans. He wasn’t interested in chickens, clots, pelts or pottery. He couldn’t even afford most of those things. 

Squeezing through the crowd was hard, even with his wide shoulder he used to make some space for himself. He finally managed to reach one of the stalls in the middle of the marketplace where there was everything he needed. Unfortunately, he had to wait for his turn. He used that time to look around, looking for the murderer. The chance that the man followed him into such packed space was small, but it existed and John really didn’t want to get stabbed out of nowhere and bleed out in the middle of the marketplace because he didn’t notice the murderer in time. 

He used his unusual height to scan the crowd. The murderer was the same height, maybe a bit smaller, so he should be easy to spot, especially since most of the buyers were women. John didn't notice the man in the end but that didn’t make him feel safe. 

After a few minutes and listening to twice as many arguments over the prices, it was finally his time. John asked for some potatoes, a corncob, two apples and two carrots. Not much, fresh products were more expensive than canned, just enough to give himself some diversity after eating cans all week. Monday was the only day when he was eating fresh vegetables. 

He loved Mondays.

He was just reaching for everything the seller was handing him, when he heard a painful cry just behind himself. John spuned around right away, heart already pounding but the first person he noticed wasn’t a murderer but some kid, curling on himself, his wrist caught in a death grip. John followed the hand holding the kid and he felt himself going pale when he saw the murderer himself. 

The man wasn’t even looking at him, his attention was on the kid whose wrist he twisted. John could swear he heard the bone crunching as the boy screamed louder, getting everyone’s attention. People gathered around. 

“Let me go!” the kid screamed, trying to tug his hand away. 

The murderer glared at him. “Let go of the money you took first, you little shit,” he growled dangerously.

Money?

John checked his bag, finding his knife but no money except some coins, all the cash was gone. He looked at the kid again and noticed some of it sticking from his clenched fist. Shit, he didn’t even feel him stealing it and he was always so careful! He felt like a kid himself now. The boy was good. But not when there was always a pair of eyes watching John. 

“Okay, okay!” The kid dropped the cash right away, crumpled so tight John had enough time to catch it mid air before it could fall onto the ground. He quickly put them away into his bag and stared at the murderer in a pleasant surprise.

The man still wasn’t looking at him. “Apologize,” he ordered the kid, twisting his wrist again. 

The boy whimpered in pain that made him fall further onto his knees. His hand didn’t even budge, outstretched high in the murderer’s hold. “I’m sorry!” he squeaked through teers and cried again when the murderer bent his palm backward. Just a couple inches further and the wrist would snap like a twig. 

John shuddered.

”Look at him when you speak to him, show some respect!” 

That low, commanding voice… John felt it in his bones, in his twisting stomach. With a racing heart, he took a step back as the kid looked right at him, eyes red with tears and snouts in his nose. “I’m sorry!” he cried in desperation and he was finally let go, pushed away by the murderer. 

Still crying, the boy crawled away, holding his twisted wrist to his chest. The crowd watched for a few more seconds then everyone returned to what they’ve been doing before the comotion happened. 

Everyone except John, who stared at the murderer with disbelief, finally having the man’s attention on himself. 

“Um, thanks,” he said, uncertain, but he really appreciated the help. Thanks to the man he wasn’t left without money for the whole week but it was strange to thank someone who was making him paranoid. And confused, now even more so. Why the hell someone like that helped him? Not that he was complaining, it was really kind of him but it wasn’t helping John figure things out about the man. 

The murderer smiled under his nicely curled mustache and tipped his hat at him before walking away without a word. John followed him with his eyes before the man vanished in the crowd. But something was telling John he was still nearby and watching. 

Shuddering again, John returned to the stall and bought everything he needed before heading to the store, keeping his bag close and safe. 

“Marston, you moron,” he scolded himself. “You was lucky today.”

The kid was lucky too. He could’ve easily died if they were alone with the murderer. Almost having his wrist snapped in half should teach him to keep those hands away from people’s belongings. 

John wondered how long the man was watching him and how close he was if John didn’t notice him earlier but he had time to get to John in time like a goddamn guardian angel and save him from being robbed. It was strange he even received help. Wouldn’t it make more sense if the murderer took the money for himself? What he wanted to gain by helping John? Why was he so nice when on the night they met he was ready to kill him just because?

John shook his head, even more confused than in the morning. Nothing made sense and he wasn’t even sure if he wanted it to make sense. He just wanted it all to stop, that’s all. 

He quickly finished shopping and finally returned home, looking into every dark alley on his way there. In his flat, nothing seemed different than from how he left it so maybe the murderer wasn’t there earlier. 

John put away his purchases, ate some of the biscuits and sausages again, ending with an apple he bought today. It was too early to go to bed yet so he sat by the table and sipped the whiskey, trying to calm himself after the encounter at the marketplace. 

Nothing really happened, the murderer actually helped him and he looked quite friendly when he smiled at John, but it was first this close encounter since their first one and it spooked him. He didn’t expect the man to get this close, not without killing John right away. In fact, he didn’t know what to expect of this man at all, why did he help John? Did he count on something in return? Too bad, John had nothing to offer him as a payment, he could only thank him again. 

He could probably do it right now because he had a suspicion the man was outside. He probably followed John all day, even to work, that’s why there was no note in his flat and nothing changed. 

“Why do all this?” John asked himself and took a big sip of his whiskey. 

With a sigh, he put the glass back on the table and looked at the flowers in front of him. They were beautiful, he didn’t look closely at them before but now he definitely recognized some orchids he only ever saw at the market. And was this a vanilla? 

John reached for the vase and pulled them closer, leaning down to take a sniff. The vanilla had the strongest scent even if it was drying first. But other flowers smelled nice too. John touched the petals thoughtfully, feeling how delicate and smooth they were. They were certainly bringing some colors to his gloomy flat, brightening it up.

Smiling slightly, John put the vase back in the center of the table and stood up to pick some book to read before sleep. Before he settled on the bed, he checked if the door was locked and the knife was back under the pillow.

Just in case. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is already trying to be less creepy to not spook John. He's... making an improovments.

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this story was born with the help of my wife over a year ago if not more. Originally, John was about to be someone who is rich and married to Abigail when he first encounters Arthur, being robbed by him. But as I started planning the story a few weeks back, I pretty much changed everything except John being stalked by Arthur.


End file.
